Slackers of the Inner Sphere
by JA Baker
Summary: The rest of the universe had written them off as a collection of misfits and losers, but the fate of the Inner Sphere may just be in their hands… I hope they washed them first...
1. Starting out

**Slackers of the Inner Sphere  
****Chapter 1: Starting out**

_Mercenary sector  
__Harlech, __Outreach  
__The Chaos March  
__1st July, 3064_

Major Ricardo 'Swindle' Swindelli groaned as he awoke, his head feeling two sizes too small for his head. His mirrored shades were at an odd angle and he was in desperate need of a shave. Lifting his aching head off of his desk, he looked out of his office window to see Outreach's distant sun just start to rise above the cityscape.

Confused memories of the night before started to filter through his hanger over, as well as the dread that he had every morning when he remembered just how badly his life was going.

It had sounded like the perfect job when he'd first arrived on Outreach, his old unit having been mangled by Clan Jade Falcon on Coventry. All he had to do was recruit a band of MechWarriors and tech's willing to go up against Word of Blake and other forces within the Chaos March.

The thing that worried Swindelli the most was he'd never met the people who were putting up the cash and owned the unit: his only contact was a Davion lawyer named Kobayashi, who refused pint-blank to tell him just who was calling the shots.

Whoever the owner were, they had more money, influence and contacts this side of God, and didn't ask too many questions, as long as the job was done.

Recruiting had been a pain in the ass: despite having as much money as he needed to flash around, Swindelli had found it almost impossible to higher anyone with good combat experience. Even units with a low Mercenary Review & Bonding Commission ratings found it easier to find recruits than a newly found unit with only one member.

Kobayashi insisted on vetting every potential recruit to keep Word of Blake or some other potentially hostile agency from slipping an agent in. This grated on Swindelli's nerves, but he had to admit that the lawyer had an almost superhuman ability to smell a rat.

A loud thud and a string of curses from the outer office woke Swindelli from his daydreaming, and he went to investigate.

A low groaning came from a lump on the floor, and Swindelli finally remember why he'd gotten so drunk the night before: one of the few potential recruits who'd been worth investigating.

Jeff 'Buckshot' Baker was a former student at the prestigious New Avalon Institute of Science who'd joined a pro-Victor resistance cell at the start of the Civil War that was threatening to rip the Federated Commonwealth apart. A skilled technetium and chemist, Bake had been making bombs and bobby-traps since he was a kid, only now they tended to be deadly rather then than just harmless jokes.

But New Avalon had become too hot for Baker, and he'd been smuggled off world, finally ending up on Outreach with nothing but a duffle-bag and his Mech, a battle-worn _Templar_ that he'd picked up somewhere between the Davion capital and the Mercenaries world.

Swindelli had at first interned to just trick him out of his valuable OmniMech, but had changed his mind after seeing Baker in a bar-brawl: despite his rather bookish persona, the former Davion agent was like a rabid wolf when cornered, completely unconcerned with his own safety when it came to a fight.

A quick jab with a stun gun had ended the fight when Swindelli finely decided to intervene. The look in Baker's eye when he realised that someone had involved themselves in his fight without permission was worrying, but the sound of approaching security officers proved that Baker was also surprisingly quick on his feet when he needed to be.

Swindelli offered to buy the still fuming MechWarrior a drink at another bar, never letting on that he knew the other mans story from the file Kobayashi has given him at their last meeting. As soon as Baker had said that he was looking to sign on with a Mercenary unit, Swindelli had offered him a place with his unit.

Baker had almost laughed at the name, and Swindelli regretted choosing the name 'The Slackers of the Inner Sphere' in an attempt to goad his employers into showing their hand.

Despite Swindelli's best efforts, Baker had at first turned him down flat, but several hours of hard drinking later had dissolved the Davion's resolve, as well as robbing him of the power of speech and the ability to walk. One rather scribbled signature on a contract later, and Swindelli had another recruit.

"Get up!" Swindelli kicked Baker, "Time to get to work…" A bloodshot eye opened, and Swindelli found himself looking down the barrels of a saw-off shotgun.

"What the hell?" Baker blinked, stretching his other arm as he yawned, "Who are you?"

"I'm your new CO." Swindelli pulled Baker's contract out of his pocket and dangled it in front of a pair of half open eyes, "Now get up and get cleaned up before I through you in the brig."

"You don't have a brig." Baker groaned, the shotgun disappearing back into his long black trenchcoat, "I there any coffee?"

"Yeah: downstairs with the rest of the unit."

"You managed to get some other losers to sign up to this circus? I'm impressed."

"Don't be: they're just like you, slackers."

"That explains you." Baker dragged himself to his feet, swaying slightly, "How much did I drink last night."

"Don't ask me; I was drunk." Swindelli led the way to the door.

* * *

The huge warehouse was almost deserted: Mech-bay after Mech-bay lay empty, making the space feel even larger than it was. The only light in the room came from a few dirty skylights, but row after row of fluorescent bulbs hung from the high ceiling.

Swindelli clapped his hands and the lights flashed on, several bulbs exploding in a shower of sparks. The increased lights reviled a number of BattleMechs standing in the bays nearest the doors.

Baker did a quick mental inventory: a _Rifleman,_ a _Sunder_, a _Men Shen_, a _Catapult_ and a _Zeus_. The ancient _Rifleman_ looked like it was half way through a major overhaul, while the other Mech's were in various states of disrepair. A _Galleon_ light tank and a heavily customised Wheeled APC stood in the very corner, and were surrounded by what looked like a shantytown.

"I was hoping that the others would be up by now…" Swindelli took of his glasses and rubbed his eyes, "You'd better come meet the rest of the unit."

"You call five BattleMechs a unit?" Baker raised an eyebrow as they made their way down the metal staircase to the ground floor, "What is this, a Clan?"

"No, but two of them are former Clanners." Swindelli kicked the side of the APC, "Get up you lezzy sons-of-bitches!"

There was a chorus of complaints from inside the vehicle, but finally four rather scruffy looking men in a collection of uniforms and civilian clothing stumbled out into the daylight.

"Ok guys, this is Baker, call sign Buckshot, our newest recruit." Swindelli smiled, "This is Captain Marcus, formally on Clan Coyote. He goes by the call sign Dyrewolf, and he rides the _Sunder_. The guy next to him is Dimitri, out other resident Canister-Mopper, but he won't saw what clan he's from. He rides the _Zeus_. Then we have James Taplin, call sign Biggles. He's in the _Catapult_. The guy on the end there goes only by his call sign, Humansquish, and he's in the _Men Shen_. That old Rifleman is mine, but she'd down until we get the parts we need."

"And my name is Ethan Kobayashi." A new voice called from across the room, and a tall, balding man in his late forties walked over, "I am the owners representatives on Outreach, and any problems, quires and the such come to me. I have already arranged for your _Templar_ to be moved here from the spaceport, and paid off your bill at the hotel you were staying at."

"Yeah, thanks Kobayashi." Swindelli glared at the other man, "Any more new recruits?"

"Several: I suggest that Lance-leaders handle the interviews." The lawyer handed over a stack of files, "I believe that Mr Baker will be leading the new Fire Lance?"

"Yeah, probably." Swindelli handed out the folders to the other men, "Anything else?"

"Only that your first mission has been arranged." Kobayashi started to walk away, "The DropShip lifts-off at noon on the 6th. Be there."

**TBC…**

_For more information on The Slackers of the Inner Sphere, and the chance to join, visit: _

_www(dot)hpguplink(dot)net/forum _


	2. Mad Coyotes and Davion’s

**Slackers of the Inner Sphere  
****Chapter 2: Mad Coyotes and Davion's**

_Mercenary sector  
__Harlech, __Outreach  
__Chaos March  
__1st July, 3064_

"Hey, Major." Captain James 'Biggles' Taplin ran after Swindelli, the brightness of his Hawaiian shirt hurting the other mans bloodshot eyes, "You said I could select my own people. I already have three pilots from my old unit lined up to fill out my Lance."

"And I told you that Kobayashi had final say in the matter." Swindelli paused as the base of the ladder, "You think you can talk him round, be my guest, but you have to catch him before he disappears…"

Taplin was already running for the distant door and the receding dot that was Ethan Kobayashi.

* * *

"Let us see here." Baker looked over the top of the file at the young woman sitting in the chair opposite him, "Lin-Fu Shen, born on St Ives April 20th, 3044. Both parents' were members of the Free Capella Movement. Learnt to pilot a BattleMech at a young age, scoring higher in gunnery than anyone else in your unit, but still an under-average pilot. One of the few survivors of the 'Black May' attack's and the subsequent invasion of the Compact by the Capellan Confederation, you ended up on Solaris VII."

"How do you know so much about me?" Shen asked.

"I'm not finished yet." Baker looked surprisingly calm, "Entered the lower arenas piloting a battle-damaged _Men Shen _OmniMech. You did very well but found it difficult to adapt to the politics of the compaction and finally quit, trading in your Mech for a new PH-6D _Phoenix Hawk_ and passage here. Every unit you have applied to join has rejected you; many of them telling the Mercenary Review & Bonding Commission that you have a major attitude problem."

"I don't have an attitude problem: they had a problem with my attitude."

"Indeed. If you were to be offered a place in the Slackers, would you accept it?"

"Yes."

"Good. Grab your kit and find a bunk; you're hired."

* * *

"_O'Hara_." A rather sleepy female voice answered the phone.

"Charlie, it's me, Biggles." Taplin stood leaning against the outside wall, rubbing his eyes, "You're in. Get the others together and get other here ASAP."

"_How'd you pull that off?_"

"I told the guy who really calls the shots here that if he trusted me, he had to trust you guys, and that if you didn't get the slots, I'd walk."

"_You took one hell of a risk, sir: he cold have told you to pack your bags and get lost._"

"They need experienced officers; the last guy they recruited is some collage boy from the Davion Outback who thinks he can pilot a Mech. I'm sure the Major's planning to con the guy out of his Mech first chance he gets."

"_What's he riding?_"

"A goddamn _Templar_! He's only get equipment for the primary configuration, but that's not any problem. I tell you, there's something funny about this unit, something, off."

"_Sounds risky._ _You sure you want us to be a part of this?_"

"What choice do we have? No one else will take us, and we don't have any more money. It's the Slackers, or we have to sell one of the Mech's just to cover rent."

"_I here you boss. Ok, I'll get the guys up and we'll be over soon as._"

* * *

Marcus Steele looked at the three MechWarriors standing in front of him. Two of them had formal training: one had been injured in combat and invalided out, while the other was still technically AWOL from the LAAF.

Steele couldn't help but grin when he remembered that he was still wanted for Grand Theft BattleMech in that very same realm.

Of the files Kobayashi had given him, these three were the only ones who'd been interested enough in the job to return his calls. This limited his options to almost zero. Short of looking at the pilots the other Lance Leaders rejected, he could do nothing.

"Ok, you have the placements." He eyed them coolly, "And before any of you feel the need to ask, Aff, I was once a Star Captain of Clan Coyote. While I will not hold you to those same high standards, I will under no circumstances allow you give anything less than your best. For you, this is the preverbal Last Chance Salon: if you wish to remain MechWarriors, I will help you. If you wish to be forgot by the universe, I will not stop you. Any questions?"

"Yeah, I got one." Randall Harley was the third member of the group, a former pirate who'd served with the Northwind Highlanders for two years after going strait, "Do we get hazardous duty pay for serving alongside some of the clowns in this circus?"

"Oh, I think I like you already." Steele smiled.

* * *

"Thaddeus Hardcastle, although it says here you prefer to be called Tad." Baker looked at the man sitting rather uncomfortably in the chair opposite him: he was easily 7-foot tall, and must have weighed 250-lb, and every time he loved, it was obviously all mussels, no fat.

"Yeah, Thaddeus makes me sound like a stuck-up officer." Hardcastle smiled, displaying a set of immaculate ivory teeth.

"Indeed." Baker nodded, "Born on Nox in the Free Rashague Republic, your family moved to Tukayyid to escape the Clan invasion. You joined the KungsArme the day after your 18th birthday and started MechWarrior training. You chose to concentrate on scout Mech's, but you are rated on several heavy and assault designs."

"Light Mech's are harder to hit."

"True, but I'm not giving up my _Templar_ any time soon. Three years ago you were transferred to the ComsGuard's as part of an officer exchange program. It was then that you acquired your BattleMech, a BEO-12 _Beowulf_. You served with them for a little over two years, until your unit was caught up in fighting between units loyal to Victor and those loyal to Katharine. Your company was ordered to separate the two forces, only to be shot at by both sides. You were one of only three MechWarriors to escape the firefight with your machines intact, and two member of your Lance died, including your lieutenant."

"Don't feel sorry for him: he was an asshole, always trying to get us killed."

"I'll keep that in mind. Your unit was disbanded, and you used most of your savings to buy your Mech surplus. The rest of your money you spent on passage here. you've tried out for several units, but have been turned down, forcing you to take lodgings at the YMCA. Your Mech is currently being held by the authorises for unpaid port duty."

"Yeah, that's kind of embarrassing…"

"It says here in your file that you were given the call sign 'Sleepy' after you fell asleep in your Mech during a training exercise."

"There's a funny story behind that…"

"I bet there is, but it an wait for another time: you need to go and see the Major about having your Mech released from the impound yard."

"I've got the job?

"You have class and style, not just ability. I need someone who can think on his feet in battle, and you fit the bill perfectly. The job is yours, if you want it."

"Sir, yes sir!"

"Don't sir me: I work for a living."

* * *

"How did my life end up like this?" Swindelli asked as he collapsed onto the sofa in his office, "What did I do in a past life to warrant this damnation?"

"I would guess that you were Stefan Amaris." Dimitri Kerensky laughed, grabbing a couple of sodas from the fridge, "Cheer up: things could be worse."

"How?" Swindelli took one of the cold drinks and pressed the can against his throbbing head, "No disrespect, but my command is made up of people that no other unit would touch with a cattle prod. I've got that asshole Kobayashi looking over my shoulder all the time, while my officers are recruiting people at random. That is, those of them that have started recruiting…"

"I'm busy trying to fix that bad hip on my _Zeus_. You hire some techs and I will have time to recruit MechWarriors."

"We don't have time to recruit any tech's for that sort of work. You heard Kobayashi: our first mission is in five days. We'll be lucky if we have enough time to get our Mech's battle ready, you can forget about anything fancy. There are times I feel that our sponsors want us to fail…"

"Or succeed."

"How so?"

"Think of the glory and honour we will gain if we succeed with so little."

"I'm more worried about being outnumbered ten-to-one."

"What you call being outnumbered, I call a target-rich environment."

"I'll drink to that!"

**TBC…**


	3. Cowboys, Clanners and Conspiracies

**Slackers of the Inner Sphere  
****Chapter 3: Cowboys, Clanners and Conspiracies**

_Mercenary sector  
__Harlech, __Outreach  
__The Chaos March  
__2nd July, 3064_

"Hey!" Dimitri yelled as he saw a pair of legs dangling out of a maintenance hatch on his Mech's leg, "What do you think you are doing?"

"Fixing this hip-joint for you." Baker replied, "It's not damaged, just a little fouled-up: god only knows what your last tech was using to clean it."

"I did not ask your help."

"Well it's not like there's much for me to do round here, and we don't have any tech's at the moment. What else am I going to do? Work on my tan like the others up on the roof?"

"I am just surprised that someone as educated as yourself knows how to repair a BattleMech. Your files said you majored in hyperspace theory and dynamics."

"Yeah, a fat lot of good that's going to do me these days." There was a loud thud from inside the _Zeus_, "That should do the trick." Baker pulled himself out, "I don't exactly come from a affluent family: I only got to go to NAIS because I'm smart enough to be of use to someone. But I grew up around construction Mech's: my dad drove one and always tried to save some money by doing what repairs he could himself."

"So you wanted to be a technician?"

"Hell no, I wanted to own a pub. Funny how life works out, isn't it? I mean, just look out the Major."

"I do not follow."

"I can tell from his accent that he's from what's called the Southwestern worlds in the Free Worlds League. He tyres his best to hide it, especially when Kobayashi's here, but it's always there."

"I have not heard of these Southwestern worlds before."

"I'm not surprised; very few people have. They are possibly the most independently minded worlds in known space: they may be part of the Free Worlds League, but they have no love for Word of Blake. Then again, who does? No, the people of the Southwestern worlds are very big on personal freedom, including the right to pick your own religion. If Tommy Marik tried to make Word of Blake the official state religion, there could be a minor civil war."

"The Major feels that strongly? I have known him longer than anyone in the unit, and he has never mentioned anything about his past."

"He has his demons to face. I just hope the rest of us survive the fight."

**

* * *

**

_Unknown location_  
_2nd July, 3064_

"Why are we funding this, Mercenary unit?"

"Because right now it serves our purposes to have a military unit at our disposal. None of them, not even Kobayashi, know whom they are working for. They have their ideas and theories; I am sure, but none of them know for certain. This makes everything they do 100 deniable."

"You make it sound like they are a suicide unit."

"Not in the least: I think they will surprise everyone with how well they perform in combat. But they are nothing but a tool to be used to do a job. Right now that job is to put Word of Blake off balance while we move our other assets into position."

"Then they are expendable."

"We are all ultimately expendable. All that matters is do we accomplish what we set out to do. This task has been handed down to us thought the centuries: to fail now would be to undo the work our predecessors have dedicated their entire lives to."

"What if Word of Blake should discover what we are planning?"

"Word of Blake doesn't even know we exist; almost none outside the organisation does. That is how we have survived all these years."

"I take it that we have an insurance policy in place?"

"Yes: I have contracted London to see that things run smoothly."

"You trust her? She is freelance after all…"

"She takes her work as seriously as we take ours: once she has accepted a mission, only death will stop her from seeing it through. You have to remember that this deep in the shadows, repetition is everything. London lives by her repetition, and one day she will die by it."

"I defer to your judgement on this matter."

"I will not disappoint you, or the others."

"See that you don't."

* * *

_Mercenary sector  
__Harlech, __Outreach  
__The Chaos March  
__2nd July, 3064_

"What in the name of Jessie James are you two up to?" Swindelli ran along the catwalk until he reached the bay that held his _Rifleman_, "What are you doing to her?"

"Fixing her as best we can." Baker wiped his hands on a rag, "We've done our best, but there's only so much we can do."

"Aff." Dimitri nodded, "We lack the parts and equipment we need to complete the job."

"What?" Swindelli blinked, "How much of her is operational?"

"We'll your lucky: the bulk of the damage was superficial." Baker explained, "I've jerry-rigged the fire-control for the arm-mounted Lasers and Autocannons, but the torso lasers are toast. I can, if you want, rip the out expand the ammo bays, but I can't guarantee that she'll be ready in time for the mission if I do that. The D2j is running, so you can go take on VTOL's and aerospace fighters if you need to."

"But she's running again." Swindelli reached out and gently rested a hand on his BattleMech, "That's the main thing." He turned to Dimitri, "As neither you or Humansquish have managed to recruit anyone, you'll be founding into the Command Lance with me. That means that your canister-born ass is going to be my XO. Steele is getting command of First Company, which is you Baker, and Taplin's people."

"I'm still one Mech-jock short, but I barley have enough time to drill with the people I've got, let alone interview anyone else." Baker lamented, "The spare bunk will have to remain empty until we get back from wherever the hell it is we're going."

"That I can live with." Swindelli nodded, "Kobayashi has managed to arrange some time on a testing range and another unit of the same size to go up against. We have to be there at 0800 tomorrow, so I suggest that we all have an early night."

**

* * *

**

_Proving Ground B  
__Harlech, __Outreach  
__The Chaos March  
__3rd July, 3064_

The deep-throated roar of Autocannon fire filled the air as Swindelli stepped his Rifleman to the right, thumping round after round into a _Shadow Hawk_. The computer-simulated damage appeared on his main screen as the barrage left a line of scars across the Mech's left torso and arm.

The _Shadow Hawk_ attempted to return fire, but the _Rifleman_ was already out of side behind a building. Filled with rage, the _Shadow Hawk's _pilot ignited his jump jets, leaping over the building and into the alleyway beyond, landing behind Swindelli.

The wall to the Mech's right collapsed as Dimitri walked his _Zeus_ through it. The Assault Mech's right arm was hanging limply at its side, but it raised its right arm and pressed the barrel of its ER-PPC against the _Shadow Hawk's_ cockpit.

"Bank, you are dead." Dimitri smiled as the klaxon sounded, signalling the end of the training exorcise.

"Very nicely done people." Swindelli started to head back to the rally point, "But not great: we lost a lot of people, and this is only training. We're going to do it again, and we're going to keep doing it until we get it right."

The radio was full of complaints and curses.

"Suck it in boys and girls." Swindelli stopped his Mech on rotated its torso so he could look at everyone, "We train hard so we can fight easy. Like the Romans of ancient Terra, I want our drills to be bloodless battles, and out battle bloody drills. Learn to anticipate your Lance mate's action in any given situation: that's what'll save your life out there."

**TBC…**


	4. Pimp my 'Mech

**Slackers of the Inner Sphere  
****Chapter 4: Pimp my 'Mech**

_Mercenary sector  
__Harlech__Outreach  
__The Chaos March  
__4th July, 3064_

"What the hell happened?" Swindelli asked as he looked at the smoking remains of what had been his _Rifleman's_ cockpit.

"Electrical fire as I tried to set up one of those light-weight neural-helmets Kobayashi got us." Baker explained, "I'm fine by the way, thanks for asking."

"You I can replace, the Mech I can't!" The Major fumed, "Is there any way to repair the damage."

"Sure, if I was back at N.A.I.S…"

"Can you fix it?"

"No: it's scrap, a 60-ton paperweight." Baker shrugged, "Don't suppose you've got a spare ride hanging around anywhere?"

"I have the _Marauder_ I was piloting back when I was still in the 1st Regulan Hussars in storage, but she's not been refitted in almost 15-years."

"Give me two days and as much cash as you have spare, and I'll get her battle ready." Baker smiled.

"You'd better." Swindelli headed for the office, "Or I'll take your _Templar_ and dispossess your sorry ass!"

**

* * *

**

_Main Spaceport  
__Harlech__Outreach  
__The Chaos March  
__4th July, 3064_

The clerk at the customs desk looked half asleep as the last passenger made their way off the newly arrived DropShip. He only glanced at the red-haired woman long enough to ensure that her face matched that on the passport.

"Name?" He asked.

"London, Cassidy London." The woman replied with almost no discernable accent: she had the kind of voice that could be from almost anywhere.

"Purpose of your visit?"

"Work."

"And what do you do?"

"I'm a DropShip navigator: I was offered a job on a ship based out of here."

"Ok." The clerk looked at the visa attached to the passport and stamped it, "Enjoy your stay on Outreach."

"I'm sure I will." London grinned.

**

* * *

**

_Mercenary sector  
__Harlech__Outreach  
__The Chaos March  
__5th July, 3064_

"Where the hell is Baker?" Swindelli asked when he saw the apparent lack of work being done on his _Marauder_.

"He has taken Hardcastle and Shen to some bar he knows to listen to a band play." Marcus Steele walked past, carrying what looked like a small barbeque and a case of beer; "I believe that he left a note for you."

"If that book-nosed bastard hasn't got this up and running…" Swindelli walked over to the foot of his Mech and grabbed the note taped to the armor:

_Dear Sir,_

_I've done my best, but I feel you should shoot whoever was doing maintenance on this thing: there are some things even a Mech shouldn't go through._

Swindelli reddened slightly: he'd been doing his own maintenance.

_Anyway, the Medium Lasers are a bit temperamental. It would have been easy to fix if they weren't different makes, or I had time to replace one. Just remember to double-check your targeting-lock before firing._

_I've managed to get hold of a couple of Clan ER-PPC's; just don't ask how. They're longer-ranged and produce less heat. I also managed to shoehorn in some Clan double heat sinks. Again, don't ask where I got them from, and if anyone comes looking for me; I'm on leave._

_She still runs hot, but it'll power that Triple-Strength Myomer you've got in the legs and arms. One day you'll have to tell me where you got that stuff._

_I took out that LB 10-X (or rather, what was left of it) and replaced it with a Light Gauss Rifle: less heat, more range, and no explosive ammo. The CASE is still there, but that would take some major structural changes to remove._

_The ECM and C3-Slave units you asked for are there, but I can't figure out what you want a Slave unit: only Steele has a Master._

_Anyway, she runs, which is what I promised in the first place._

_As you no doubt know by now, I've taken Tad and Shen out for a drink: there's a band I like on in a little bar I know, and I decided that the three of us should get to know each other better if we're going to be working together._

_See you on the DropShip,  
__Baker_

Swindelli crumpled the piece of paper and dropped it to the floor.

**

* * *

**

_Main spaceport  
__Harlech__Outreach  
__The Chaos March  
__6th July, 3064_

"Their Mech's are onboard, but there's no sign of them." Kobayashi looked round the busy landing field, "I must say I am a little disappointed."

"What's to be disappointed about?" Swindelli shrugged, "We've got their Mech's, so they're not exactly going to run off."

"Sergeant Baker is wanted for several acts of domestic terrorism in the Federated Commonwealth. It is possible that Loki, or some other such agency, has sent someone to kill him."

"Good luck to them: he earned the call sign 'Buckshot' for killing a Loki agent with that sawn-off of his."

"How did you know that?"

"I asked him." Swindelli pointed at a Taxi that had just pulled up at the foot of the DropShip's cargo-ramp, "And here he is now."

Baker stepped out of the taxi, stretching in the early morning light. His t-shirt proclaimed '_The Sultans of Swing: Chaos March Unplugged Tour_' and looked like it had been slept in. The other two members of his lance stepped out behind him, looking rather the worse for drink.

"Good morning boss. You too Major." Baker smiled as he walked past the other two men, "We going to get this show on the road or what?"

**

* * *

**

_DropShip_ Bulldog  
_Outbound,_ _Outreach  
__The Chaos March  
__6th July, 3064_

"Well I'm glad you all found the time to be here today." Swindelli glared at his assembled command as they filed into the _Overlord's_ briefing room, "It's time to tell you where we're going."

The holo-projector built into the table hummed as a 3D map of the Chaos March appeared in midair. Everyone sitting around the table moved closer for a better look, trying to orientate themselves in relation to the map.

"We're here." Swindelli pressed a control, and an icon appeared next to Outreach, "While our first mission is here, a Word of Blake training and recruitment camp on Epsilon Eridani…"

"Not that I have a problem with going up against the Toaster Worshipers." Humansquish raised his hand, "But who we working for? Who's signing the checks?"

"This mission is more of a chance to prove that we can work together as a team, so the owners are paying for it." Kobayashi stood in the shadows against one bulkhead, smoking, "If you pull it off, I can start looking for some proper contracts."

"Yeah, but Word of Blake?" Charlotte 'Charlie' O'Hara, Taplin's 2IC asked, "Those guys are known to hold a grudge."

"I second that." Baker nodded, "And they have a funny way of treating prisoners: I don't know about you guys, but I don't want to spend the rest of my life having erotic dreams about household appliances."

"Then don't get captured!" Swindelli snapped, "Look, any of you want out, then just say the word and you can stay on the boat during the mission; no harm, no foul. But if you do, we'll cut you lose the first chance we get."

The room fell silent apart from the ever-present throb of the DropShip's powerful engines. Everyone knew that Swindelli wouldn't make such a threat if he weren't willing to carry it through to the end.

No one moved.

"Good." Swindelli crossed his arms, "I suggest that we all spend as much time as we can in the simulators. This is going to be a real baptism of fire, make no mistake."

* * *

London stood outside the briefing room, listening intently to what was said inside: she already knew the details of the mission: her employers had made sure that she knew even more than Swindelli and Kobayashi.

What interested her was how the rest of the unit responded, and how Swindelli handled them. She was impressed: he had quickly asserted his authority over a group of extrovert individuals.

London smiled to herself: she liked Swindelli immediately.

**TBC…**


	5. The ‘I’ in team

**Slackers of the Inner Sphere  
****Chapter 5: The 'I' in team**

_DropShip_ Bulldog  
_Outbound,_ _Outreach  
__The Chaos March  
__7th July, 3064_

"You people continue to amaze me." Swindelli shook his head, "We just have a simulator session where everything goes well, and you're not out of the pods five minuets before you start tearing into each other!"

"With all due respect, Sir, Cup-o-Clanner over there is to blame!" Baker pointed an accusing finger at Steele, "The day he gets off his genetically-engineered high horse is the day this unit will start acting more like a team."

"It is not my fault that you are not Trueborn." Steele shook his head, "But I have to work with what I have: Freeborn you may be, but you will conduct yourselves as soldiers, not some bandit-cast thug."

"Any time you want to have a rematch, I'm ready!" Baker drew back a fist.

"That's enough!" Swindelli snapped, silencing the room, "One more word out of either of you and I'll put the pair of you in an escape pod and blast you into space! You!" He pointed at Baker, "Captain Steele is your superior officer, and you will give him the respect due his rank. And you!" He turned to the former Clan officer, "I hear you call one more person under my command 'Freeborn' or 'Freebirth' ever again, I'll kick you so hard you'll be swallowing with three Adam's apples, you hear me?"

"Yes Sir." Baker relaxed.

"Aff, Major." Steele just nodded.

"Good." Swindelli let out a deep breath, "Ok, everyone back in the simulators…"

**

* * *

**

_JumpShip_ Vital Spark  
_Nadia Jump-point,  
__Outreach  
__The Chaos March  
__8th July, 3064_

"There are times when I believe that you are almost too hard on them." Kobayashi sat on one side of the chessboard, "They are only human…"

"We jump in something like ten minuets, then we have five days till we touch down on Epsilon Eridani." Swindelli counter-moved, setting the magnetically based piece down on the metal table, "I have that long to get them working as a team."

"They need time."

"They need a sense of esprit d' corps, something to bring them together as a unit. Right now we have four individual Lance's, not a reinforced company."

"I am afraid that it may take their first taste of action together to achieve that. But they are all experienced soldiers. True, Baker has no combat experience in a BattleMech, but he has proven to be useful in other areas."

"I just hope they live through this mission."

"So do I Major, so do I…"

* * *

"A word, Quiaff?" Dimitri stood leaning against the bulkhead outside of the showers when Steele exited.

"Aff, Star Captain Dimitri Kerensky of the Wolves." Steele nodded, "What is on your mind?"

"I am no fool: I know that you have been sent to the Inner Sphere by your Clan, and although I do not presume to know the exact nature of your mission, I can guess."

"And your interest in any such 'mission'?"

"None what so ever. I merely wish to offer you, one Trueborn to another, so helpful advice."

"I am listening."

"You are alone, far from the support of your Clan. Your only chance of survival is to work as part of this team…"

"But they are Mercenaries, warriors who sell their loyalty to the highest bidder. What honour do they have?"

"While it may be true that some Mercenaries are only loyal to their pay check, I do not believe that to be true of anyone in this unit. Most of us are here because we see Word of Blake for the threat that it is. This unit, as fractured as it may be, will show you what the Inner Sphere is truly like."

"And what, pray tell, is that."

"A lot bigger and more complicated than the Kerensky Cluster. If you want to survive here, you have to learn to live with the natives. The Major showed me your file: you do not seem to have trouble working with Freeborn, when you need to. What is your problem with Sergeant Baker?"

"He is a Technician, but he acts like a Warrior. He should be content with his assigned cast."

"If you had read his file, you would know that he has spent the past few years working for the pro-Victor resistance on New Avalon: he has probably seen more clandestine combat than anyone else in this unit. His skills are an asset to the team. He is also the closest thing we have to a qualified technician at this time, so you would do well to keep from offending him."

"I will take what you have said under advisement." Steele walked off.

**

* * *

**

_DropShip_ Bulldog  
_Inbound,_ _Epsilon Eridani  
__The Chaos March  
__10th July, 3064_

"Ok, let's go over the plan one last time." Swindelli sat at the head of the briefing table.

"I've rigged a little something on one of the airlocks that'll make it look like there's been an explosion onboard." Baker explained, "That, along with changing the ships transponder code, will make it look like we're a harmless merchant ship that's gotten into trouble during re-entry. There isn't an air-traffic controller in known space who wouldn't want us to abort landing at his spaceport under those conditions."

"Good." Swindelli nodded, activation the holo-projector, "The Primary target is here: a small Word of Blake outpost in the Arousian Region. According to all reports, we shouldn't be facing anything more than a Level II unit."

"That's 6 BattleMechs to the uninformed." Tad Hardcastle looked up, "We got any idea on what we're going to be up against."

"Inelegance says heavies and mediums, no assaults." Kobayashi called up a file on the main computer, "We have a few reports of what appears to be a _Catapult_, a _Wraith_ and two _Blackjacks_, probably the newer OmniMech version."

"That's only 5." Taplin raised an eyebrow, "What are you not telling us?"

"Clan-tech." Swindelli sighed, "Word is the unit commander has gotten his hands on a _Loki_, or a _Hellbringer_ as Steele and Kerensky would know her."

"That's a heck of a lot of firepower for small garrison unit to be packing!" Humansquish spoke up for the first time in the entire meeting, "What gives?"

"This is no garrison unit." Steele looked at Swindelli, "This is a front-line unit, quiaff?"

"You still outnumber them better than two-to-one." Kobayashi sat back in his chair, "And the offer to sit this one out remains: the door is always open for those who want out."

"Yeah, and we'd be out on our ear on a planet crawling with Blakist forces looking for some payback." Baker snorted, "Talk about Hobbes choice."

"Any choice, even Hobbes choice, is better than none." Swindelli shrugged, "I for one need the money, thought god knows there are easier ways to earn a living." He looked round, "Ok, decision time: in or out?"

Nobody moved.

"Excellent." Kobayashi smiled, "I'm sure you'll do just fine."

"You'd better hope we do." Swindelli grinned evilly, "You're going to be strapped into my Mech's jump-seat. The view should be, interesting…"

* * *

_DropShip_ Bulldog  
_Inbound,_ _Epsilon Eridani  
__The Chaos March  
__13th July, 3064_

"_I say again: this is DropShip _Helios_, declaring an emergency!_" Captain Penwald's voice came over the link in Swindelli's cockpit as the DropShip began its 'emergency' landing, "_We have suffered an internal explosion and are loosing internal pressure. We are coming in and coming in hot!_"

"_Rodger DropShip_ Helios." The air-traffic controller sounded terrified that something like this was happening on her shift, "_Do you have power to boost back to orbit?_"

"_Negative control: we've lost half our main drive and the others are threatening the fail_." Penwald laid it on thick, "_Mayday! Mayday! Mayday! This is DropShip_ Helios: _we're in an uncontrolled fall. We're trying to…_" The DropShip's captain cut the link at the most dramatic moment, "_I think that should convince them._" He laughed over the direct link to Swindelli Mech.

"You should have been an actor." Swindelli ran one last check on his _Marauders_ systems before changing to the command frequency, "Play time's over boys and girls: this is the real thing."

The entire universe seemed to shake as Captain Penwald touched down as hard as he dared.

"Ok. Wolf and Fire lances up first." Swindelli started to move his Mech forward, "Command lance form up on me. Biggles, you have our six."

**TBC…**


	6. Point of no return

**Slackers of the Inner Sphere  
****Chapter 6: Point of no return**

_Arousian Region  
__Epsilon Eridani  
__The Chaos March  
__13th July, 3064_

Swindelli moved his _Marauder_ forward, flanked on either side by Dimitri's _Hell Spawn_ and Humansquish's _Men Shen_, the Mechs' huge feet clawing up the soft earth, leaving a trail of broken ground that no tank could match.

"_Two kilometres to target_." Dimitri reported, "_All units report status_."

"_Swindle: ready_." Swindelli brought his weapons on-line and activated the targeting system.

"_Humansquish: ready_."

"_Dyrewolf: ready_."

"_Blaze: ready_."

"_Stomper: ready to rock and ruin!_"

"_Long-shot: weapons hot_."

"_Biggles: I got your six_."

"_Charlie: just let me at 'em sir!_"

"_King Zeus: bring 'em on, bring 'em all on!_"

"_Duck: on-line and feeling fine!_"

"_Buckshot: locked, cocked and ready to rock!_"

"_Rouge: operational_."

"_Sleepy: ready to go kick some Blakist butt!_"

"_All units report ready for battle_." Dimitri sounded confident, "_Thirty seconds to contact._"

Swindelli took a deep breath, knowing that combat would soon turn his cockpit into a sauna. The Word of Blake outpost appeared against pre-dawn sky, apparently unaware of the reinforced company headed its way.

He carefully calibrated the crosshairs, making sure that they were set correctly. Reaching out with one hand, he grabbed an audio CD from a rack set against the wall and inserted it into his communications system.

"_I keep a close watch on this heart of mine. I keep my eyes wide open all the time. I keep the ends out for the tie that binds. Because you're mine, I walk the line…_"

"What the hell is that?" Kobayashi protested from the jump seat.

"Classical music." Swindelli grinned, "You know what they say Ethan: if it's too loud, you're too old!"

"_Reactor plumes!_" Humansquish called out, "_We got multiple Mech's powering up._"

"Confirmed: I count two targets, and what looks like three more on ready-5." Swindelli nodded as the music continued, "War-Book says a _Wraith_ and a _Catapult_. No ID on the sixths: it's powered down inside the hanger. Wolf Lance; take the Wraith. Fire Lance; the _Catapult_ is all yours. Biggles: you're people are to secure the parameter while the Command Lance acts as back-up should the other three power up."

Flairs from the base illuminated the surrounding area, and beams of emerald light flicked across the open ground, probing for the Slacker's. But the range was just too great, and the laser beams dissipated before they found anything.

Swindelli backtracked the laser beams to the _Catapult_, and for a moment considered firing on it. He hesitated: that target was assigned, and he couldn't get distracted at a time like this.

An ear-splitting crack filled the air as Baker fired his Gauss Rifle at the _Catapult_; the nickel-iron slug breaking the sound barrier before it even left the barrel. The kinetic energy twisted the big _Templar's_ torso back slightly, but Baker kept his Mech heading the right way, firing the extended range particle cannon the moment it came in line.

Man-made lightning washed over _Catapult's_ left arm and torso, shattering almost a ton of ablative armor clean off. The hypersonic Gauss round reached the target a split second latter, ripping most of the protection of the right leg.

The Word of Blake Mech responded by opening the armoured hatch covering its right-arm weapons pod. The bird-like Mech stood perfectly still as its pilot lighted up a shot. Bright light silhouetted the _Catapult_ as it fired a single deadly Arrow-IV missile at the larger _Templar_.

Baker reacted by twisting his Mech's torso to the side, trying to give the smallest possible target to the missile. But this tactic failed, and the projectile struck home dead centre on the huge armor plate that protected the _Templar's_ right shoulder.

Armor exploded in every direction as the plate shattered under the force of impact and the subsequent explosion.

"_Son of a…_" static interrupted the enraged sergeant before he could complete his curse, "_Rouge, Sleepy: take that Blake-loving bastard down!_"

Laser and PPC fire filled the air as the three Mech's of the Fire Lance opened up with everything that they had, wanting to take the Blakist _Catapult_ before its pilot could load another round.

Swindelli watched with interest as Star Captain Steele went one-on-one with the operational _Wraith_, his Sunder's 120mm Autocannon ripping chunks out of the lighter Mech's Ferro-Fibrous armor, a single sustained burst cutting the left arm clean off.

By now the pilots of the other three BattleMechs had gotten to their machines and were powering up. The two _Blackjacks_ decided to help the _Catapult_, while the other _Wraith_ went to help its twin. Swindelli dropped his crosshairs over the back of one _Blackjack_ and fired both of his Clan-built ER-PPC's, sending azure beams into the lighter machine.

Armor exploded off of the 45-ton OmniMech, exposing its delicate internal structure. The pilot reacted quickly, turning his Mech round and firing both of his LB 10-X Autocannons at Swindelli's _Marauder_, chipping the Mech's famously thought armor.

This proved to be a mistake, as Dimitri opened up on the _Blackjack_ with everything he had, sending almost a dozen LRM's into the Mech's internal structure. Pulse laser bolts burned through into the magazines holding the remaining Autocannon ammo.

Lacking a Cellular Ammunition Storage System, otherwise knows as C.A.S.E., the _Blackjack_ was doomed as the propellant in the Autocannon rounds started to cook-off, gutting first the left, then the right torso. Shrapnel and flame dug into the vulnerable Extra Light engine, ripping away the physical shielding needed to keep the reactor safe.

Emergency dampeners cut in, dousing the reactor before it went critical, but taking the _Blackjack_ out of the fight permanently. Ammo continued to cook off, and the pilot decided to eject rather than run the risk of being burned alive in the cockpit. Headless, the OmniMech fell face-first into the dirt.

Swindelli looked round in time to see the Blakist _Catapult_ fall, its right leg snapped off just below the knee. Wolf Lance was pummelling the two _Wraiths_, Steele's 90-ton _Sunder_ taking most of the return fire. One _Wraith_ tried to jump clear, only to get caught be a broadside from Taplin's Lance, and crashed down onto the roof of the hunger before falling to the ground, a broken mess.

"Clear?" Swindelli asked over the general frequency.

"_Five targets down: the_ Loki _never even powered up_." Dimitri reported, "_We took some damage, mainly lost armor. Nothing that can not be repaired_."

"I want the compound secured before the salvage crew from the _Bulldog_ get here." Swindelli cut the link and turned round, "Have fun Ethan?"

"I hate you." The Lawyer looked pale, "It's important that you know that."

"I can live with that…"

**

* * *

**

The popping of cooling mettle and crackling of burning insulation filled the air as the three members of the Fire Lance approached the downed _Catapult;_ side arms drawn and ready. Shen and Hardcastle covered Baker as he depressed the emergency release tab on the main hatch.

Three guns pointed into the Mech's interior, ready to fill it with hot led and even hotter laser fire. A voice ground, and long blond hair spilled out as the pilot started to crawl out, nursing an apparently broken arm.

"Hold it right there!" Baker hissed, "Hands where I can see them."

"Infidel!" A painfully young and weak voice responded, "You shall be punished for your actions against the will of the Blessed Blake."

"What kind of sick joke is this? The toaster worshipers drafting kids or something?" Baker looked at the young woman, lowering his gun, "How old are you?"

"I…" The young woman blinked, "I don't know."

"What about your name? Can you tell me that?"

"I…no."

"Well, what can you tell me?"

"That you will burn in the flames of eternal damnation for what you have done here. That it is the destiny of the Word of Blake to bring salvation to mankind. That…"

"Hw about your favourite colour? Or what you had for breakfast today?"

"I…don't remember."

"What in the name of the Unfinished Book is going on around here?" Baker asked the universe in general. He grabbed his radio, "I'm going to need a medic here." He hesitated, "Major, you better come look at this to: something seriously wired is going on down here."

* * *

"It's not a concussion. Nor is it amnesia." The Bulldogs doctor reported after he had checked out the captured MechWarrior, "The other prisoners are fine. Pissed-off, but fine."

"Any idea what they did to her?" Kobayashi asked, looking genuinely un-nerved, "Some sort of brainwashing?"

"Best guess is some sort of chemically induced trance-like state, similar to what the Thug death cult use to initiate new members." The Doctor looked angry, "Whoever did this knew what they were doing, and was defiantly medically trained. The first lessen you learn as a doctor is 'do no harm'."

"I somehow doubt that Word of Blake teaches Hypocrites." Swindelli shook his head, "Ok, keep an eye on her: if she starts to remember anything useful, I want to know."

"Sir." The Doctor nodded.

**

* * *

**

"How are you feeling?" Baker asked the prisoner, "Would you like some water? I know how hot it can get inside a Mech during combat. You must be thirsty."

"Get behind me Satan!" The woman tried to spit, but nothing happened.

"Look, have some water." Baker placed a sealed bottle of mineral water on the table; "I grabbed it from your own mess hall: I give you my word that there's nothing in it but what it says on the label."

The young prisoner looked at Baker intently for a moment, then grabbed the bottle and almost ripped the cap off before downing its content in a single swallow.

"Feel better?"

"Yes."

"Good. I take it that you still can't remember your name?"

"No…"

"What did those bastards do to you?"

**TBC…**

_Yes, the name, and much of the personality, of Ethan Kobayashi is taken from the movie "The Usual Suspects".  
Congratulations: you win a cookie._


	7. Matters of honour and duty

**Slackers of the Inner Sphere  
****Chapter 7: Matters of honour and duty**

_Arousian Region  
__Epsilon Eridani  
__The Chaos March  
__13th July, 3064_

"Time to start getting out of here." Swindelli walked towards his _Marauder_, "I some how don't think those mother-loving sons of Blake will take kindly to our little party here."

"We are still loading salvage onto the Prime Movers." Dimitri fell instep next to his superior, "Sergeant Baker is also asking what we are going to do wit the prisoner he took."

"Cut her lose with the others. What's the problem with that?"

"A officer from the _Bulldog_ was able to break the encryption on the base computers: it appears that the prisoner is part of an experiment in mind control. If she is not given regular doses of a suppressant drug, she will start to remember her training. I have the impression that that is the last thing Word of Blake wants."

"And how is that our problem?"

"Baker says he has heard several of the other prisoners say that they will kill her the moment we leave. He feels that leaving her here is as good as killing her ourselves."

"This isn't the Salvation Army: we can't go round fixing every mistake Word of Blake has ever made. We leave her hear with the others, maybe let her go a little earlier so she can at least have a head start…"

"_Sleepy to Swindle, come in_." A voice crackled over the radio, "_We got what looks like a Heavy Company headed our way, estimate 20-muinets until they arrive_."

"It never ends…" Swindelli grabbed his radio as he sprinted the rest of the way to his waiting Mech, "People, we are leaving in 10! I want everything that isn't nailed down on the Prime Movers and out of here before then. Those of you who's Mech's don't have hands, set up a parameter to the south-west: we got company coming…"

**

* * *

**

"This is borderline mutiny!" Shen protested from the makeshift gantry set up to grant easy access to the units Mech, "The Major finds out, he'll probably take your Mech and dump you on Outreach, if he doesn't hand you over to Loki for the bounty on your head."

"You let me worry about that!" Baker hissed, "You just keep an eye out." He looked around, "Ok, let's do this."

"Fine!" Shen hissed, before stealthily moving through the long shadows to the tent holding the prisoners. She returned moments later with the captured MechWarrior.

"Ok, bring her up." Baker sat perched on the outside of his Mech's cockpit, looking at a sheet of paper, "According to the file Chief London pulled out of the computer, her name's Jenny. Doesn't give a last name."

"You will pay for your actions against the blessed Blake!" The prisoner spat as she was all but pushed up the ladder, "His will be done."

"Do you want to get yourself killed?" Baker asked, "Word of Blake doesn't give a shit about you: they're only interested in protecting their dirty little secret. And if that means giving you a 9mm lobotomy, than so be it!"

"I would gladly give my life in the service of Blake's divine will." Jenny glared at the sergeant, "You will die for what you have done."

"I've had just about enough of this…" Baker waited until the prisoner was standing next to him, then punched her across the jaw with enough force t knock her out. He grabbed her as she started to fall, and gently guided her into his _Templar's_ jump seat.

"As noble an act as this is, it is also very dangerous." She pointed out as she helped her superior into his seat, "She's more likely to kill you than thank you when she wakes up."

"I don't care what she does: I'm not leaving her to die because it's more convenient." Baker grabbed his neural-helmet and pulled it on, "We get her off world and cut her lose. If she then wants to go back to Word of Blake and gets killed, that's her problem."

"What ever you say, sir." Shen shook her head; "I've got to get back to helping load the loot before anyone notices I'm gone."

* * *

London watched the clandestine activity from the cab of the Prime Mover she'd volunteered to drive, and smiled to herself; manipulating Baker and She into doing what she wanted had proven to be easier than she'd anticipated.

It helped that, despite his past, the former N.A.I.S. student had a strong sense of right and wrong, and the courage to follow his convictions.

"_Time to move out._" Swindelli called out over the radio, "_Wolf and Biggles' Lance's stay with the trucks. Command and Fire will cover the retreat back to the DropShip_."

"Ten-Four good buddy!" London called into he radio as she started her vehicle, it's massive I.C.E. power plant roaring into life, "It's time to put the peddle to the metal!"

"_Yee-haw!_" Captain Penwald cheered in reply from the cab of another truck, "_Look's we got ourselves a convey!_"

The sound of country and western music filled the air, drowning out even the thunders roar of diesel engines as the mercenaries started to move.

**

* * *

**

_Arousian Region  
__Epsilon Eridani  
__The Chaos March  
__13th July, 3064_

Demi-Precenter Lazarus Jamal watched the bright drive-plume of the mercenary DropShip disappear into the morning sky, despite his prays that Blake would strike them down for their insolence.

"The Blessed Blake moves in mysterious ways." Jamal commented to his assistant, "And they are not always ours to understand. We will track them down, and they will be made to pay for their transgressions here today."

"Blake's will be done." Adapt Sapphire Hawksmoor nodded solemnly, "But I have grave news: the test subject is missing."

"Missing? Are you sure?"

"I have looked everywhere, and spoken to our agents here: they confirmed that she survived the battle, and was taken prisoner. But none have seen here since the mercenaries left."

"Blake's Blood! Have you any idea what could happen if anyone was to discover what we have spent so long preparing?"

"I will contact Terra and have them send a recovery team, perhaps the 6th of July movement can…"

"Slit our thoughts while we sleep?" Jamal shook his head, "No, this sort of mission requires a more stubble approach than those tugs, devout thought they are, are capable of."

"Than what shall we do?" Hawksmoor asked, "We can not simply wait for her to appear."

"Have the others search the planet for her. We will follow the mercenaries."

"You believe they have taken her?"

"I believe that anything is possible: the ways of Blake are more complex than any mere human could ever hope to understand. We will have her back, when the time is right."

"Blake's will be done."

* * *

_Unknown location,  
__13th July, 3064_

"I am impressed: our agent on Epsilon Eridani reports that they acquitted themselves well. Admittedly against a lesser force, but still better than I had expected."

"London is likewise impressed; she says they have great potential."

"Is it wise to trust someone whose loyalties are for sale to the highest bidder?"

"Can you think of anyone who can bid higher than us? Anyway, as I said before, London is loyal to her contract, and would rather die than break it."

"As before, I must defer to your judgement."

**

* * *

**

_DropShip_ Bulldog,  
_Outbound,  
__Epsilon Eridani,  
__The Chaos March,  
__14th July, 3064_

"I would like to congratulate everyone on a mission well done." Swindelli raised his glass to the rest of the unit; "You looked death in the eye, and made the bastard blink first!"

"Seyla!" Dimitri nodded, "We acquitted ourselves as true warriors."

"All that matters is we got out again without losing anyone." Kobayashi smiled, "I am proud of you all."

"To the Slackers of the Inner Sphere!" Baker lifted his glass.

"To us!" The others responded.

**TBC…**


	8. Contingency Plans

**Slackers of the Inner Sphere  
****Chapter 8: Contingency Plans**

_DropShip_ Bulldog  
_Nadia Jump Point  
__Acamar  
__The Chaos March  
__19th July 3064_

"What in the name of John Wayne are you watching?" Swindelli asked as he looked through the hatchway of the room assigned to the Fire lance.

"_The Adventures of Clan Spaniel_." Baker didn't even look up, "It's the Clan equivalent of Saturday morning cartoons: I guy I was in the underground with was a Tech in a unit that went to Huntress with Prince Victor. He picked up a couple of optical disks of Clan TV to see what it was like."

"I asked you to work on repairing and rearming the Mech's."

"Sir, with all due respect, I spent 72 hours, without sleep, working on the Mech's. I repaired what I could of the damage, and the DropShip tech's can handle putting the armor back on. I've drunk so much caffeine that it's taken me four hours to stop shaking, god only know when I'm going to be able to sleep again. If I try and keep going to make a mistake that could get someone killed."

"Funny, I thought I gave you an order."

"You did." Baker stood slowly, "But it is one I can not and will not follow."

"I will have to deafer to your judgement on this issue. What about the security system in the _Loki_ we captured?"

"Now that's a little complicated: as our two esteemed Star Captains could tell you, the Clan's don't build in the same security systems as you find in the Inner Sphere. Mech theft was all but unheard of in Clan-space until they invaded back in '49. Even today, they go more for armed guards around the Mech hangers than anything else."

"And you know this because?"

"I like to read. Anyway, the crux of the matter is all I need to do is change over the control circuits to ones imprinted with the brainwaves of one of our pilots and she's good to go. It'll literally take like two minute's. The only thing is we're going to have to be extra careful when it comes to security, as almost anyone could gain control of the Mech until I get hold of and fit a working security system. Who's getting the _Loki_, anyway?"

"I was thinking of keeping it myself: it has about the same firepower as my _Marauder_, but is much more advanced."

"You're the boss."

"And don't you forget it." Swindelli turned to leave, "Try and get some sleep…"

The hatch opened, revealing a rather surprised looking Shen. The young MechWarrior tried to hide the person behind her, but Swindelli pushed her out of the way.

"You!" The Major drew his side arm, "How the hell did you get on this ship?"

"You might want to relax, Sir." Baker drew his sawn-off and pointed it at the ceiling, "You don't want to do something we'd all regret."

"This is mutiny!" Swindelli looked over his shoulder; "I gave explicit instructions to leave her behind on Epsilon Eridani!"

"I ordered him not to." Kobayashi seemed to materialise out of thin air, "I decided that it was more important to bring her with us. Our benefactors have their own motives, motives that go beyond what you or I are told."

"You're in contact with them?" Swindelli asked the lawyer.

"In a fashion: they gave me a list of contingency plans to follow should certain circumstances arise." Kobayashi folded his arms, "One of them related directly to the discovery of a top-secret Word of Blake program similar to the one our young friend here was part off. I have reason to believe that the base we attacked on Epsilon Eridani was selected specifically so we would find young Jenny here."

"Let me guess: the contingency plan says to abandon the other planed raids." Swindelli lowered his gun and shook his head, "So, what are we supposed to do now?"

"We are ordered to make best speed for the planet of Astrokaszy, in the Periphery between the Magistracy of Canopus and the Marian Hegemony." Kobayashi explained, "Another agent of our benefactors will contact us there with further instructions."

"Can't you just contact them directly?" Baker asked.

"If we were still on Outreach, yes." The lawyer nodded, "But out here, we have to be much more careful."

"You think our benefactors are on Outreach?" Swindelli asked inquisitively.

"I very much doubt it." Kobayashi shook his head, "Now, I recommend that the sergeant gets some sleep before he passes out, while we go see the captain of the _Vital Spark_, and tell him of the change of plans…"

"Will we be going thought Capellan space?" Shen asked, sounding more than a little worried.

"That's up to the navigator." Swindelli shrugged, "It's the fastest way to the region of space we want to get to."

"Then I must ask to be released from my contract and put ashore at the earliest possible convenience." The young MechWarrior stood ramrod straight, her eyes looking straight ahead.

"Shen has a little problem with the Cap-Con." Baker explained, "Something to do with them shooting her on sight. They tend to do that to former members of Free Capella."

"Then we will find another way." Kobayashi looked at the NCO, "Are you willing to risk a run through Fed-Com space?"

"It'll be a cold day in hell before I except that bitch Katherine as First Princess." Baker looked up, "But it'll be an even colder one before I'm afraid to set foot in my homeland. Don't worry: I'll stay out of the way. Chances are no one will even know I'm there."

"And if someone does?" Swindelli asked, "Someone like Loki?"

"You know I can handle Loki." Baker smiled, patting his sawn-off, "They can't handle me."

"One of these days, you and I are going to have a chat about your past: there are some things that just don't ring true." Swindelli pointed at Jenny, "She's your personal responsibility: she does anything to endanger this mission or any member of the unit, and your ass is grass. You get me?"

"5-by-5, sir." Baker nodded, "She steppes out of line and I'll kill her myself."

"Yeah, well, she'll be bunking down in here for now." Swindelli pulled himself through the open hatch and started to float down the corridor, "Come on Ethan; time to talk to the good captain."

"I'll talk to you later." Kobayashi looked over his shoulder at Baker as he moved to follow the Major, "After you've gotten some sleep."

"Way ahead of you." Baker yawned as he pulled himself across to his bunk, "Wake me in about two years…"

**

* * *

**

_DropShip_ Wabash Cannonball  
_Zenith Jump Point  
__Fletcher  
__The Chaos March  
__19th July 3064_

"Our quarry is proving to be most elusive." Demi-Precenter Jamal looked at the holographic map of the so-called Chaos March that dominated the briefing room, "We need to find them before they unlock in information inside the test subjects head. _Project Manikin_ is too important to risk."

"Our agents on Acamar have reported a JumpShip matching the description of the Mercenary vessel arriving at the Nadia Jump Point two days ago." Adapt Hawksmoor handed over a print-off, "Their next registered destination is Liao in the Capella Confederation."

"I would have preferred somewhere were we have a little more authority, but I doubt Sun-Tzu will mind if we deal with some troublesome Mercenaries. And if needs be, we can always frame them for piracy."

"Liao is to far for a single jump. We will have to change JumpShips."

"There is a regular service from Arboris to Liao: we can use that. Inform the captain."

"Blake's will be done."

"Indeed, my dear Sapphire, indeed."

* * *

_DropShip_ Bulldog  
_Zenith Jump Point  
__Hamal  
__Federated Commonwealth  
__22nd July 3064_

"Welcome to the wonderful and war-torn Federated Commonwealth." Swindelli smiled as the ship exited hyperspace, "Please ensure all seats and tray-tables are in their locked and upright position."

"Funny." Kobayashi shook his head, "How many more jumps till we reach Astrokaszy?"

"Damned if I know: all I know is we can get as far as Bromhead on the FedCom/Periphery boarder, and that'll be something like 17 more jumps. From there on we have to skirt the outside of the Cap-Com until we reach Astrokaszy. Unfortunately, from what the navigator told me, the only regular routs there are from Campoleone and Gatchina in the Free World League, and I kind of have the feeling that we want to avoid that place."

"Astrokaszy is already closer to the Free World League than I'd like, but it is the destination we were given, along with a list of systems we can use to recharge our hyperdrive along the way."

"Our benefactors really do think of everything, don't they?"

"I'll do you a deal: you leave the thinking up to me, and I'll leave the fighting up to you."

"Ethan, you wound me."

"Not half as much as I'd like to."

**TBC…**


	9. Ghost ship

**Slackers of the Inner Sphere  
****Chapter 9: Ghost ship**

_DropShip_ Bulldog  
_Nadia Jump Point  
__Shoreham system  
__Federated Commonwealth  
__19th August 3064_

"I am so not enjoying my life right now." Swindelli shook his head as he read the results of the latest simulator tests, "This is almost embarrassing. Hell, it **is** embarrassing!"

"They need time." Dimitri shook his head, "They need to work as a coherent unit."

"That's the same thing I told Kobayashi last month. I don't know how much longer I can keep stalling him. The only Lance we have that works with any degree of competence is Captain Taplin's, and they were together before."

"You doubt that the others will ever be able to work as a unit?"

"No, but I'm beginning to doubt that Kobayashi or our Benefactors will give us the chance. What we need is time and another battle. Not a big one, but something that'll make everyone feel part of the team. _Espirit-de-corps_ is something that no simulator can install."

"That, my friend, is not something I can help you with: it is rare that any officer can make the enemy to meet them on terms they dictate."

**

* * *

**

_DropShip_ Wabash Cannonball  
_Zenith Jump Point  
__Bethel system  
__Federated Commonwealth  
__19th August 3064_

"They vex me, these mercenaries." Demi-Precenter Jamal looked at the map of the Capellan March that hung in the air above his desk. The worlds of the once mighty Federated Commonwealth were bright royal blue, while those of the Capellan Confederation glowed equally bright emerald green. The lack of any other light in the room cast strange shadows on the bulkheads. "They vex me terribly."

"You were not to know that they had changed their plans." Adapt Hawksmoor did her best to reassure her emotionally susceptible superior, "We have been able to track them since, and have almost caught up with them…"

"Almost is not good enough, not if we want to live. No, we need to catch them, find out how much they know, and destroy them. Something subtle; deniable. Maybe a jump accident or something like that?"

"That would be easy to arrange: a suitably placed explosive device would cripple their ship at the worst possible moment."

"That may be, but first we have to catch them. Inform the JumpShip captain that I want him to hot-charge the engines: we must catch the mercenaries!"

"By your command, Demi-Precenter. Blake's will be done!"

* * *

_JumpShip_ Vital Spark  
_Pirate Point  
__Uninhabited system  
__Federated Commonwealth  
__3rd September 3064_

"This is the worst idea in the long, sad history of bad ideas I've had since I joined this unit." Swindelli looked out of the observation bay windows at the empty system beyond, "Jumping into an uninhabited system is dangerous enough, but picking a non-standard jump-point is tantamount to suicide: if anything goes wrong, we have no way of calling for help!"

"Life is about taking risks, Ricardo." Kobayashi shrugged, "Word of Blake may well be tracking us: changing our IFF transponder can only do so much to disguise our ship."

"It's still a bigger risk than I'd like to take…" Swindelli was cut off mid sentence when alarms started going off. The heavily reinforced bulkhead leading to the central corridor started to close.

Both men kicked off of the hand rail in front of them and towards the door, only just making it through before the hatch slammed shut. Red emergency lights illuminated the corridor, flashing on and off as crewmembers rushed to their duty station.

"If something has happened, and we are trapped in this system, know that you will be the first to die!" Swindelli snarled at Kobayashi as he grabbed one of the colour coded hand rails and started to pull himself toward the bow of the JumpShip.

**

* * *

**

_DropShip_ Bulldog  
_Pirate Point  
__Uninhabited system  
__Federated Commonwealth  
__3rd September 3064_

"**MOVE IT! MOVE IT! MOVE IT!**" Captain Taplin yelled as the units MechWarriors started to assemble in the briefing room. Most were dressed in standard shipboard coveralls, many covered in patches denoting former units or House affiliations. All were armed.

"We are all here, Quiaff?" Dimitri pulled himself through the hatchway.

"All except MechWarrior Hardcastle: he's babysitting our 'guest'." Taplin nodded as he pulled on a flack vest, "Any idea what's going on?"

"No." Dimitri shook his head, "Take your lance, Sergeant Baker and MechWarrior Shen over to the JumpShip and find the major. I will prepare our defences here."

"Who are you to tell us what to do, Wolf?" Steele asked, "We are all of the same rank, Quiaff?"

"Aff, we are all the same rank." Dimitri glared at the over Clan warrior, "But I am this unites Executive Officer, and that places me above you in the chain of command. You will do as I say, follow my orders, or I will shot you for desertion in the face of the enemy!"

"You would not dare!" Steele scoffed.

"Try me." Dimitri smiled the kind of smile you hope never to see from someone holding an automatic weapon, "Go ahead: make my day."

* * *

_JumpShip_ Vital Spark  
_Pirate Point  
__Uninhabited system  
__Federated Commonwealth  
__3rd September 3064_

Swindelli and Kobayashi found the bridge in disarray: Gregor Handy, the ship's longsuffering captain stood at the navigation console, his feet held in place by metal eye-rings built into the deck.

"Captain." Swindelli nodded polity, knowing full well that he was in the other officer's territory, "What's going on?"

"Wi picked up summat on the long range scanners." Handy's highland burr was thicker than usual, a sure sign that he was stressed, "Wor trying te worrk oot just what it is. At forst wi thowt it wez just a meteor, but we're picking up man-made alloys."

"A ship?" Kobayashi asked, automatically translating what the other man had said in his head.

"It looks tha way: we're bringing the optical roond te get a closer gandie." Handy pulled an old wooden pipe from his pocket and started to crew the stem.

"Sir." Taplin appeared at the hatch with his party, a laser carbine slung over his shoulder.

"Aha, good: get over here Baker." Kobayashi motioned to the NCO, "You know more about JumpShip's than most of us."

"I know how they work, sir, but will all respect, Captain Handy probably knows more about them." Baker slowly made his way across the room, moving from hand-hold to hand-hold, "What we got?"

"Unknown, but sensors syah approximately 320-meters long, somewhere between 110,000 an 125,000-tons." Handy looked at the navigation console, "Best guess waad be another _Merchant_ tha got stuck oot heor , maybe wi a DropShip?"

"That's not a _Merchant_." Baker looked at the image that was coming into focus on the main screen, "Look; there and there." He pointed at the monitor, "The superstructure's wrong for a _Merchant_. It's subtle, but its there if you know what to look for."

"The lad's right. Ah can't tell yee what shes, but she's ne class of JumpShip tha Ah knaa of."

"Something looks familiar. How far back does your war-book go?"

"It waad tell yee if it wez the TAS _Dreadnought_ oot there."

"Pull up the files for the _Nightwing_ and _Tracker_ class ships, and see if you can pick up any energy emissions."

"Yee might be onto summat there. But Ah can tell yee noo tha we're not picking up owt but background emissions: she's deed in the water."

"Care to enlighten those of us who don't have a clue what the two of you are talking about?" Swindelli asked.

"The _Nightwing_ and _Tracker_ class were surveillance ships built by the Terran Hegemony to keep an eye on other nations." Baker explained, "They could pass for regular JumpShip's, and often carried merchant DropShips add to the disguise."

"So they were JumpShip's?" Kobayashi asked.

"Not in the slightest: they were armed warships." Baker smiled to himself, "I never thought I'd ever get to see on: they were supposable all scraped long before the fall of the Star League."

"Well, Sergeant, you're in luck." Handy folded his arms and nodded at the screen, "The war-book confirms it: tha there is a _Tracker_ class spy ship. Must hev suffered a drive failure an abandoned bi hor crew. I'm ernly detecting one DropShip, so they may hev been picked up bi another ship an rescued."

"Or not." Swindelli looked at the screen, "Either way; it's worth going to have a look at." He turned to Taplin, "Tell Captain Penwald to get ready to undock: we've got a possible salvage mission to undertake."

**To Be Continued…**

New Belt Pirate Commander: according to my copy of '_The Clans: Warriors of Kerensky'_, _The Adventures of Clan Spaniel_ is a canon Clan TV-show aimed at indoctrinating children to the Clan way of life and the cast system. Doesn't seem any stranger than some of the stuff I watched as a kid (and still do)...


	10. Treasure Hunt

**Slackers of the Inner Sphere  
****Chapter 10: Treasure Hunt**

_DropShip_ Bulldog  
_Pirate Point  
__Uninhabited system  
__Federated Commonwealth  
__3rd September 3064_

"_Sixty seconds until soft dock_." The DropShips pilot reported, "_All hands standby for contact_."

"Suck it in people!" Swindelli looked at his soldiers, all dressed in light weight spacesuits, "Now we think this ship has been dead in space for hundreds of years, but take no chances. Stick with your lance-mats and keep in constant radio contact with the DropShip. Command and Biggles lances will take the bridge, Wolf and Fire lances will take engineering. I want a quick assessment of what happened to this ship, and if she can be salvaged."

"_Contact in 3...2...1...contact!_" the entire ship shudder as it made contact with the warship, "_Magnetic locks secure. Opening the outer airlock._"

The sound of metal grinding against metal filled the air as the massive airlock door slowly opened. There was a momentary rush of air as the atmosphere vented through the imperfect seal. The powerful halogen lights illuminated the hull of the unknown warship.

"Something's written on the hatch." Swindelli shone his flashlight over the metal, "I can't make out what it says..."

"It is in Russian." Dimitri leaned closer, "_The way is shut...it was made by those who are dead...and the dead keep it. The way is shut_."

"Bugger this for a game of soldiers." Baker turned and started to walk away, "I'll be in my bunk."

"Sergeant Baker: front and centre!" Swindelli hissed, "You're the closest thing we have to an expert on warships, and you are going to inspect the engines whether you like it or not!"

"Oh man!" Baker complained as he turned round, "Just who do I have to shoot to get out of this chicken-shit outfit?"

"Did I give you permission to bitch, soldier?" Swindelli smiled as two crewmembers pulled the airlock open, "LET'S MOVE OUT!"

**

* * *

"Nothing on motions sensors." Lieutenant Andrew 'Blaze' Reid, Steele's 2IC reported, "Then again, I'd be more than a little worried if we did pick something up..."**

"Indeed." Steele nodded before turning to Baker, "Which way?"

"That way." The NCO pointed down a dark passageway, "I think."

"You think?" Reid asked.

"I've never been on a _Tracker _class Surveillance ship, no one alive has." Baker looked at the small computer screen built into his suits wrist, "But the schematics I downloaded from the _Vital Spark_ seem to indicate it's that way."

"Then we proceed." Steele nodded.

**

* * *

**

"SIR!" Cadet Drake 'Duck' Brandt, the junior most member of Taplin's lance called out as he pointed his laser-carbine through a hatchway, "There's something in here!"

"Make a hole!" Swindelli pulled himself along the handrail, "What you got for me boy?"

"Look's like a cargo-bay, sir." Brandt pulled himself out of the way.

"Could be something of value." Swindelli pulled a couple of light sticks from a pouch on his belt. Bending them sharply to activate the chemical reaction, he tossed them into the cargo-bay. The room was instantly lit by a soft green glow as the two luminous sticks drifted end-over-end. "Captain Taplin." He called out over his shoulder, "I want you to take your Lance and go see what we've got here. I'm not asking for a full inventory, just a rough guesstimate will do."

"Aye-aye, Sir." Taplin nodded as he pulled himself through the hatch, setting his halogen lamp to wide dispersal before letting it trail behind him on a tether.

* * *

"This should be the place." Baker pointed at a massively reinforced hatched covered in warning labels. He looked at the Geiger counter built into his suit, "Look's clean. Give me a hand with this."

With great effort, the seven members of the team managed to pull the door open enough for a pry-bar to be slipped into place. Planting his legs on the opposite bulkhead, Baker pushed as hard as he could, slowly opening the hatch far enough for Steele to point his gyro-jet rifle through.

The flashlight attached to the weapons barrel illuminated a room filled with computer displays and keyboards.

"Sergeant." He looked at Baker, "After you."

"Thanks..." Baker stepped past, already taking in what he saw, "Looks intact. What ever happened to this ship, it wasn't a reactor overload: the radiation levels would still be too high for us to enter."

"Can you restore power?"

"I don't know: main-power is completely offline, but I may be able to bring emergency power back online as long as there is surfactant charge left in the batteries."

"Then I suggest you get started."

**

* * *

"This looks like the bridge." Dimitri pointed his heavy laser pistol at a partly open hatch.**

"Ok; I'll open it, you two stand ready." Swindelli pressed his feet against the bulkhead and, taking a secure grip on the hatch, pulled it open. Dimitri and Humansquish pointed their weapons through the hatch, but the room as completely vacant.

"Looks like no one's home." Humansquish pulled himself through the hatch, "Look's intact."

"This is really setting of my spider-senses." Swindelli shook his head as he activated his radio, "Someone, please tell me we're going to have power soon."

"_I hear and I obey, sir_." Baker responded over the link, "_And the Lord said 'Let there be light'!_" As if by magic, the emergency lights came on, illuminating the bridge with an unearthly red glow.

"Very nice." Swindelli nodded, looking round, "How about everything else?"

"_All good things, Major, all good things. I'm going to need some engineers over from the _Vital Spark _if I'm going to get anything else up. The good news is that there doesn't appear to be anything wrong with the reactors. We need to restart them, but that's very doable._"

"Time-frame?"

"_A day, maybe two; can't tell until I run a full diagnostic of the control systems. There's enough power in the batteries to keep the emergency lights going for a while yet, and I should be able to get the atmospheric scrubbers up and running. It'll be a lot easier to work without an environment suit._"

"Get started." Swindelli changed frequencies, "Talk to me Biggles."

"_It looks like she was carrying supplies for a SLDF unit out in the Periphery_." Taplin reported, "_We've found something I think you'll like_."

"Very good; I'm on my way." Swindelli cut the link and turned to Dimitri and Humansquish, "You two stay here and try and get some of the other systems online. Find the log if you can: I want to know what this ship was doing out here and what happened to it."

**To Be Continued…**


	11. Who goes there?

**Slackers of the Inner Sphere  
****Chapter 11: Who goes there?**

_Pirate Point  
__Uninhabited system  
__Federated Commonwealth  
__3rd September 3064_

Silently and if great care, the _Merchant_ class _Vital Spark_ edged close to the derelict _Tracker _class Surveillance ship, her rarely used manoeuvring jets swinging her round until the two ships sat side-by-side. A few more jets move the _Spark_ closer until it was possible for a crewmember in an OMS suit to connect the two ships by a magnetic line, making it easier to move equipment and personnel between the two.

More lines were added, allowing the _Tracker_ to draw power from the _Spark's_ fusion reactor. Slowly at first, the dormant transport came back to life, her running lights flicking on for the first time in hundreds of years.

**

* * *

**

"It's a _Phoenix Hawk_." Swindelli looked up at the crate Taplin seemed so proud of, and shrugged, "A really, really old _Phoenix Hawk_."

"I know that, sir." The junior officer sighed, "But look at the model-type: PXH-HK2."

"PXH-HK2? Isn't that's a..."

"..._Phoenix Hawk_ LAM: an honest-to-god Land/Air Mech! And probably in the same condition she was when she left the Allied AeroSpace Incorporated factory. We're talking advanced Star League era sensors, targeting and weapons systems. This baby alone is probably worth enough to re-fit all our Mech's and then some."

"Screw that: I'm keeping her!" Swindelli rubbed his hands together with glee, "I've always wanted a LAM. I even got myself simulator-rated to pilot one when I was a cadet: shouldn't take me too long to get back up to speck."

"Sir, LAM's are notoriously under-gunned and under-armoured. They're slower than most Aerospace fighters in the same weight-range in the air, and out-gunned by some half their size."

"Yeah, but they're still cool!"

* * *

"Power is holding steady at one third." One of the engineers from the _Bulldog_ reported as she checked the feeds coming in from the nearby JumpShip, "We are ready to reinitialise the reactor at any time."

"Ok, let's ear our pay." Baker nodded, flicking a series of switches, "I just hope to God I'm as smart as I think I am..."

The lights dimmed momentarily, and then came back on as a low hum started to fill the room through the deck plates. The sound grew steadily as the banks of dials and monitors spaced around the room registered an increase in power supply, but they all suddenly dropped: the humming dieing away.

"We trip another circuit breaker?" Baker asked as the emergency lights came back on.

"That's a negative." Another tech reported, "Something cut the power forward of bulkhead 3."

"Crap!" Baker hissed, "Send a repair crew forward to have a look and see if it can be fixed."

**

* * *

**

"I've found the log." Humansquish sat at the navigation station, typing away at the main computer, "Ship's name is the SLS _Wildfire_, launched from the Delhi Ships, 17th October, 2465. Last entry is 22nd May, 2591: says here that her crew had to abandon ship when a seal blew on one of the Helium-3 tanks supplying the coolant system. They were picked up by another ship in the convoy they were using as cover."

"Something must have happened to stop them returning." Dimitri looked over his subordinates shoulder, "The Star League would not have abandoned a ship like this without good reason..." There was the sound of movement from outside the main hatch, and both men span round, drawing their side-arms instinctively. "Halt! Come forth to be recognised!" Dimitri ordered.

Dimities order was met with silence. The two men looked at each other, Humansquish pointing at his eyes, then the door, signalling that he would investigate while Dimitri covered him. The other MechWarrior nodded his agreement, levelling his laser carbine at the half open hatch, holding it tightly with both hands.

Humansquish gabbed one of the handrails and began to pull himself towards the hatch, his needler-pistol held tightly in his free hand. Edging closer towards the opening, he pressed his back up against the bulkhead. Gun at the ready, he slowly peeked out.

"_Aaagh!_" He yelled, his face turning white as he brought his gun round and fired it repeatable through the open hatch before hitting the emergency button that slammed it shut with enough force to snap a steel bar.

"What happened?" Dimitri asked; his gun still aimed at the now closed hatch, "Who was it?"

"I don't know WHAT the hell that was," Humansquish gasped, his heart racing, "But it sure as hell wasn't human!"

"By the unfinished book!" Dimitri grabbed his radio from his belt, "Major Swindelli, we have a situation..."

* * *

"_Approaching the power distribution node now._" One of the Tech's reported, the tiny camera in her helmet sending back a grainy image to the engine room, "_No sign of systems failure or overload_."

"Can you tell what happened yet?" Baker asked absently, pouring over the ships schematics.

"_It looks almost like it's been...what the hell was that?_" The image on the screen shifted suddenly, "_Did you see that?_"

"_See what?_" The second tech in the repair crew asked, shining a flashlight down the dark access tube, "_It's just a shadow._"

"Talk to me people." Baker looked up, the blueprints suddenly forgotten, "What's going on?"

"_Sir, I swear that there's something further down the tunnel._" The first tech insisted, "_Something moving._"

"_I'm telling you there's nothing there._" The second tech sounded equally adamant, "_It's just a trick of the...**SWEET MOTHER OF GOD!**_"

"**_HOLY CRAP: KILL IT, KILL IT!_**"

The voices became too confused and garbled; then the radio and video links suddenly died.

"Repair team one, report!" Baker grabbed the radio, "Repair team one, come in!"

"What is going on?" Steele propelled himself across the room, grabbing hold of a hand rail above the main engineering console, "What happened?"

"I don't know sir; I sent a repair crew to investigate a power outage in the forward section." Baker pulled out the schematics, "Just here, ahead of bulkhead 3. One of them reported seeing something, and then all hell broke loose!"

"Can you show me the record of what they saw?" Steele asked.

"Yeah..." Baker rewound the tape and started to play it in slow motion, the sound muted.

The low light level and poor quality of the cameras distorted almost everything, but finally one clear image filled the screen. It looked basically human, but the eyes were much larger, the nose and mouth almost non-existent. The arms were longer, double jointed, the legs looking almost the same. It was dressed in what might have been a crew jumpsuit, once upon a time, but it had been ripped and torn in many places, revealing grey, leathery skin below.

"By Kerensky's bones..." Steele looked pail and uncertain for the first time since Baker had met him, "It can not be."

"Sir?" The Sergeant asked, truly worried, "What is it sir?"

"An abomination: a perversion of all that the Clan's stand for." Steele took a step back, "Genecaste..."

**To Be Continued…**


	12. Hunting Season

**Slackers of the Inner Sphere  
****Chapter 12: Hunting Season**

_SLS_ Wildfire  
_Pirate Point  
__Uninhabited system  
__Federated Commonwealth  
__3rd September 3064_

"So what exactly are we dealing with here?" Swindelli rubbed his forehead, trying to fend off a headache, "And in words that we can all understand."

"_They are, as Star Captain Marcus Steele said, an abomination._" Dimitri explained over the radio from the bridge, "_They are not something we from the Clans like to talk about with outsiders. They first came into being shortly after we settled the Pentagon Worlds: many of them were only marginally habitable, and many turned to science to provide the answer. But where as most strived to change the environment to fit their needs, those we now call the Genecaste took the other route: they changed themselves to fit the environment._"

"Define 'changed'." Taplin asked, standing next to his CO with a worried expression on his face, "We talking bionic implants here?"

"_In some early cases, that is as far as they went._" Dimitri continued, "_But they soon came to the conclusion that genetic modification was the way forward. After many years of trial and error, they found a way to re-write the human genome to suit their needs. This early work is I regret to say the basis for all my peoples genetic-engineering and eugenics programs. But some went even further, drastically altering themselves for harsher and harsher environments. Soon they became human in only the broadest sense of the word._"

"So we've got some crazy Clan science-fair project running around this ship, killing our people!" Swindelli shook his head, "And the best part is they're designed to live in this environment. Stop the world, I want to get off."

"_We got a plan, sir?"_ Baker asked.

"I want you to sit tight down there: they take the engine room, and they can override the environmental controls and vent the ships atmosphere into space." Swindelli took a deep breath, centring his thoughts, "Dimitri, Humansquish; stay put. The bridge is, after the engine room, the most easily defendable part of the ship. I'll take Taplin's people and anyone else we can scrounge up from the _Bulldog_ and start a search pattern from stem to stern until we find this freak and kill it. What I want is a hard-target search of every room, closet, vent, crawlspace, duct, storage bay and foot-locker on this ship. I want check-points at the airlocks: the last thing we want is this thing getting onto either the _Bulldog_ or the _Vital Spark_."

"_You might want to have the_ Bulldogs _fighters check the outer hull._" Steele suggested, "_While these, things, can survive in a vacuum for at least a while, they can not make hyperspace jumps: there must be a Genecaste JumpShip in this system, and there is probably a breaching pod attached somewhere along the ships hull._"

"I'll take that under advisement." Swindelli acknowledged, "Ok people, let's move like we've got a purpose!"

**

* * *

**

"Bugger all this." Baker sat back in the chief engineer's chair, "Someone put a brew on."

"What?" Steele looked at him like he'd just said that black was white, "How can you even think about a hot beverage at a time like this."

"The Federated Suns was built on cups of tea, and if you think I'm going to war without one, mate, you're mistaken." Baker moved close so the other engineers couldn't overhear him, "Look, these guys are good, dependable crewmembers. But they've just seen two of their friends taken apart by the creature from the black lagoon out there, and they need something to keep their mind off of impending doom."

"Never the less, we need to fortify our position." Steele hissed, "The Major was right: the Genecaste will try and gain control of this room, and we have two carbines and as many side arms. You have fought an irregular way, I have not: you know best how to prepare our defences. Unless you would rather sit here, drink tea and wait for the Genecaste to kill us like they did the two techs you sent to investigate the power node."

"I can't believe I'm saying this, but you may have a point." Baker looked round, "We have a few oxyacetylene cutters that I can rig to give someone a nasty surprise. Most of the guys are carrying their standard tool kits, so we're unlikely to run out of bladed weapons any time soon. I'd be tempted to try and make a few Molotov-cocktails, but those are tricky buggers to use in zero-G."

"You truly know a lot about explosives." Steele looked at the sergeant with a newfound respect, "I had no idea your knowledge was so widespread."

"Well, I'm one of those fortunate people who like my job, sir." Baker admitted, "Got my first chemistry set when I was seven, blew my eyebrows off, we never saw the cat again, been into it ever since."

* * *

"Ok people, grab what you want and let's get going!" Swindelli looked at the hunting party he'd been able to put together.

Aside from Taplin and his Lance, he'd managed to round up Lieutenant Reid, Sergeant Harley and Private Detton from Steele's Wolf Lance, as well as Privates Shen and Hardcastle from Baker's Fire Lance, and a small number of off duty crewmembers from the _Bulldog_. Kobayashi had been pressed into guarding the prisoner: Swindelli needed everyone who could handle a weapon, and the young woman seemed relatively docile, at least for the time being.

Everyone had assembled in the DropShip's airlock; sorting through what small arms they had, trying to decide what to take. Swindelli had vetoed anything with explosive, high velocity or armour-piecing rounds: the last thing they needed was a stray shot holing the ship. He was a little hesitant at the number of vibro-blades the non-MechWarriors were carrying, but the look on their faces was enough to stop him from commenting: it was their friends that the Genecaste had killed, and they were out from some serous payback.

"Ok, this is the plan, so listen up." Swindelli stood before the assembled posse, feeding shells into a massive combat shotgun one at a time, "We head to the bow by the main access way. We then search every room between there and the first bulkhead, one by one, sealing them off after us. And I want you to look everywhere anyone and anything could be hiding. Then we move forward to the next section, and repeat the process. When we reach the bridge, Privates Shen and Hardcastle will stay there under Captain Kerensky's command..."

"With all due respect, sir," Hardcastle looked at his CO, a laser carbine cradled in his arms, "we'd rather go to the engine room with the Sarge."

"When I want your opinion, solider, I'll give it to you: this is a Mercenary unit, not your high school debating society!" Swindelli snapped back, before turning and walking into the airlock, "Now let's move out: I want my new ship free of Genecaste by breakfast time!"

**To Be Continued...**


	13. The Canary Trap

**Slackers of the Inner Sphere  
****Chapter 13: The Canary Trap**

_SLS_ Wildfire  
_Pirate Point  
__Uninhabited system  
__Federated Commonwealth  
__3rd September 3064_

"So, we site tight and wait for the cavalry." Baker sat down at the chief engineer's station and secured the Velcro strap around his waist, "I can live with that."

"There is something I have wanted to ask you since we first met." Steele stood leaning against the main console, "How did someone with your background end up in the Resistance?"

"You want to know my story?" Baker shrugged, "What the hell; not like I've got anything better to do." He sighed and stretched his arms above his head, "Well, to start I'm a year older than everyone thinks: MI5 changed my records to cover up a year I spent training as an agent before going to NAIS. I'm not a Rabid Fox or anything like that; they wanted to feed them information from inside whichever shipyard I ended up working at, so I got trained in electronic espionage and other fun things. Also underwent a lot of armed and unarmed combat training, mainly the Helang style of Pencak Silat."

"Anyway, after a year getting thrown around a dojo by a couple of right sadidtic bastards, I get shipped of to New Avalon. First time I'd ever been off of Killarney in my entire life. My scholarship included a place in the halls or residence there, but I wasn't interested in staying there, so I got a flat in the city. In order to make the rent on a part time job I got at a bookstore, I sublet the other bedroom to a couple of other students: Gabby and Elijah. Gabby was pre-med, while Elijah was theoretical physics, real advanced stuff. We got along great, and everything seemed cool."

"Then the bitch-queen of the universe, Katherine Steiner-Davion, comes along and all of a suddenly everything goes wacky: speak out against her and you disappear into the night. I've never been that political, but people I knew, including professors at the Institute, started to go missing, and I decided to make a stand. Getting into the underground was harder than I expected; those guys give a whole new meaning to the word 'paranoid', but someone in MI5 was a member, and they got hold of my file, and all of a sudden they decide that they need me."

"And this is when you started to make bombs?" Steele asked, "The Major said that you made, 'booby-traps' I think the word it."

"Got it in one." Baker nodded, "But mine were different: any fool with a basic understanding of electronics can rig half a kilo of C22 to a ground-car so it'll blow when you turn the ignition, but you risk killing a lot of innocent people when you do that. No, what I did was shaped charges designed to take out the target with the minimum of collateral damage, so they moved me into my own place so I could work 24/7 if needed. Anyway, this one time we find out that an officer in the local police was working as an informer for the other side. The guys discussed just shooting him and making it look like he'd died in the line of duty, but you kill a cop like that and they will track you to the ends of known space. So the boss decided to take the guy out in such a way that it would be obvious who had done it and why."

"The guy lived in this big old building in the centre of the city. And I mean that place was built like a fortress: really thick walls and doors. So they asked me to come up with something that'll kill anyone in his apartment, but leave the rest of the place intact. Well the first thing I did was make sure the guy lived alone, so I wouldn't end up killing his wife or something dumb like that. Then I put together a little something that could fit through his letterbox like a parcel. It rig it all up, set it for about the time our surveillance said he'd be getting home from work two days later, and popped it in a post box on the far side of the city."

"Now we only had a few guys, who were trained in surveillance, and they were needed elsewhere, so I said I'd go and keep watch in the park across the road and make sure it went off. And boy did it go off! A sheet of flame blasted the floor-to-ceiling windows out of their mountings and sent glass raining down into a thankfully deserted street. Nothing in that apartment could have survived."

"So what went wrong?" Steele raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

"The son-of-a-bitch was on holiday!" Baker laughed, "Like I said, we didn't have enough people to keep up surveillance, so we just assumed he'd be there when it went off. Lucky bastard was half way round the world, living it up on some beach. Anyway, that was it for me: I was burned as far as the higher ups were concerned, so they gave me make-work to keep me occupied while they tried to work out what to do with me. And one day I meet Gabby for a coffee and she starts to talk about this new part-time job she's gotten working logistics for the local militia. She was just venting steam about a load of extra work she'd been landed with because of some big equipment shipment coming up, not realising that I'm paying closer than usual attention."

"As soon as I can, I get back in contact with my superiors in the underground and tell them everything I know, and where it came from. An opportunity like that only comes up once in a proverbial blue moon, so a team was sent out to intercept the shipment and grab what they could. You ever hear of something called a 'Canary Trap'?"

"Neg," Steele shook his head, "I have not."

"A Canary Trap is a trick used by inelegance agencies to find a leak." Baker explained, "The basic premise is you start with one story, but you make certain adjustments so you have several variations on a theme. You feed each different story to a suspected leak, and the one that gets out tells you who the leak was. The assault team was ambushed and wiped out. I heard, figured out what was going on, and went to warn Gabby. But I got there too late: Loki had already killed her, a fake drugs overdose. I caught the bastard that had bastard that had done it as he was leaving the apartment. We both went for our guns, I was quicker, and he went down with a double-dose of shot to the chest. He lay there, trying to breathe as I reloaded and gave him both barrels in the face. I have no idea if it killed him outright or not, I got out before his friends or the police turned up, but there was no way he could have survived it."

"And that was the end of my life on New Avalon: I wrote a quick note to Elijah, telling him the truth about what happened, and the underground got me off planet and on a ship headed for Outreach." Baker sat back, "So there you go: my sordid past, open for all to see."

**To Be Continued...**


	14. From the darkness you must fall

**Slackers of the Inner Sphere  
****Chapter 14: From the darkness you must fall**

_SLS_ Wildfire  
_Pirate Point  
__Uninhabited system  
__Federated Commonwealth  
__3rd September 3064_

The near constant 'pining' of the motion detector was beginning to get on Swindelli's nerves as his team made its way towards the bow of the derelict ship. The tech holding it swung it slowly from side to side, the flashlight built into the end illuminating sections of the passageway for a moment before moving on.

"Will you nock that shit off?" He snapped, "You're driving me nuts!"

"But it's what they did in _Immortal Warrior 29: Blood-Feud_." The tech looked at him, "Remember? When they faced the evil scientist's mutant zombie horde..."

"That film was the worst thing I've ever paid good money to see!" Swindelli shook his head, "The entire series went to hell-in-a-hand-basket after _On The First Lords Secret Service_..." there was 'blip-blip-blip' from the motion detector, "...crap."

**

* * *

**

Kerensky was two decks up, his own team moving methodically from room to room, looking in every conceivable hiding place before sealing the door after them and moving on. but it was hard work; on any ship there were untold kilometres of ducts and crawl spaces that a determined enemy could hide in. he swallowed the bile that threatened to rise in the back of his throat every time he even thought of the Genecaste: one of the first things he'd been told in his sibko back on Strana Mechty was that the vile Genecaste were second only to the Unnamed Clan when it came to their abandonment of the Founding Father's vision.

Although it had been more years than he cared to remember since he'd worn the uniform of his Clan and served alongside his own, he was still true in his heart to the cause, and he would hunt down every last Genecaste on the ship and kill them with his bear hands if he had to.

Movement up ahead caught his attention, and he raised his SMG just in time to see a Genecaste appear from the shadows. His finger pulled back on the trigger instinctively, a 10mm round through the monstrosities head, just above the bridge of its nose. The force of impact jerked the targets head back, but it kept advancing.

"**_STRAVAG!_**" Kerensky hissed as he flicked the selected from single shot to bust fire and pulled the trigger. The back of the Genecaste's head exploded outwards in a fine red mist that reflected what little light there was until it impacted against the far wall. He scanned the rest of the room, his keen sense of hearing detecting motion up ahead, "**_STAND TO! STAND TO!_**"

The rest of his team barely had time to bring their weapons to bear before the enemy was upon them.

* * *

Steele looked up as the sound of distant gunfire echoed through the access ways and ducts of the ship to the engine room. The prize crew lifted and checked their makeshift arsenal of coshes, spears and flamers, readying themselves for the coming battle.

"I'm going to try and get the internal sensors online." Baker sat at the main control console, "That'll at least give us a warning of anyone headed our way."

"Work fast." Steele suggested as he re-checked to power gage on his laser carbine, "We will need every advantage we can get..." something heavy hit the door, and there was a muffled scream followed by the sound of fighting. Two gunshots rang out, and then the door started to slowly slide open.

**

* * *

**

Humansquish sat in the captain's chair; a Zeus heavy rifle across his lap. A crewmember from the Bulldog stood either side of the thickly armoured hatch, guns at the ready. The MechWarrior was still shaking from his encounter with the Genecaste, but he felt a little better now that he had two people backing him up, even if they weren't trained fighters like Kerensky.

Times like this, the young MechWarrior wished he could remember more about his own past...

* * *

Swindelli slammed the hatch closed as the last surviving member of his team dived through. One of the Genecaste managed to get an arm through, but Swindelli pointed his SMG at it and pulled the trigger until the hammer landed on an empty chamber.

There was an inhuman scream from the other side, and the arm disappeared from view.

"We are so screwed!" One of the Techs' screamed, "We're going to die in here!"

"Did I give you permission to bitch, soldier? You had the chance to be afraid before you signed up for this mission!" Swindelli reloaded his gun and offered it to the terrified young man, "But to guide you back to the true path, I've brought this motivational device! Hell, back I was in basic, we didn't have fancy weapons! We had sticks. Two stick and a rock for the entire platoon! And we had to share the rock! You should consider yourself very lucky!" There was a scraping sound against the door was he pulled a pair of nickel-plated 9mm semi-automatic pistols from his belt, "Now we got two choices here: we can lay down, or we can throw down. What's it going to be?"

"We throw down, Sir!" The Tech nodded as he pulled back the lever, chambering a round.

"Now that's what I'm talking about." Swindelli nodded, anchoring himself as he aimed his guns at the slowly opening door, ""I love my job..."

* * *

"Hi." Jenny didn't even look phased by the number of guns pointed at her as she slipped into the engine room, "Got bored talking to that lawyer guy, so I decided to come see what you were doing."

"What about the Genecaste?" Steele asked, he looked out of the hatch, and saw two dead bodies floating in the passage way.

"Who are they?" Jenny asked, seemingly surprised at their very existence, "What happened to them?"

"Well, this changes things." Baker looked at Steele, who nodded his consent, "Jenny, do you know what this is?" He handed the young woman his rifle.

"TK Assault Rifle, 5.56 x 45mm, gas-operated, rotating bolt action," A strange look came over Jenny's face, almost like someone else was looking out through her eyes, "Tritium-illuminated telescopic sight and a built-in flashlight for low-visibility situations." She released the magazine and looked at the bullets before re-loaded the weapon and chambering the first round, "30-round detachable box magazine: 450 rounds/min with a Muzzle velocity of 640 m/s. Effective kill-range for this variant is approximately 400-meters." She looked at the manufactures stamp on the bottom of the grip, "Made by Enfield armaments of Outreach."

"Do you know how to use it?" Steele asked.

"Yes." Jenny nodded.

"See those guys?" Baker pointed at the two dead Genecaste and waited for her to nod, "Go see if you can find any more on the ship and kill them." He handed her two more fully-loaded magazines, "You might need these."

**To Be Continued...**


	15. To Darkness All

**Slackers of the Inner Sphere  
****Chapter 15: To Darkness All**

_SLS_ Wildfire  
_Pirate Point  
__Uninhabited system  
__Federated Commonwealth  
__3rd September 3064_

This is the way things end.

This is the shock and awe of a pair of nickel-plated .45 semi-automatic pistols spitting hollow-point rounds with inhuman accuracy. This is a born killer doing what they do best. This is not business: this is almost art. This is a grope of Genecaste walking round a corner at exactly the wrong moment. This is the bone-crunch of bodies hitting bulkheads, like wet sacks of meat. This is the zip of hot lead. This is the hot-metal stink of violent death. This is the result of years of training under brutal conditions. This is white-hot rage unlike any truly sane mind can handle. This is a declaration of war.

This isn't vengeance. This is retribution; cold as ice, swift as lightning and terrible as a demons worst nightmare.

This is Major Ricardo Swindelli doing what he was born to do.

**

* * *

**

"That was just about the damned thing I've ever seen!" Baker shook his head in disbelief: Jenny was standing in the middle of the hallway, gun in one hand. Her eyes were closed as she swayed slowly to a tune that only she could hear while the bodies of dead Genecaste floated around her.

"Whatever they did to her, it was not right." Steele shook his head, "By the Founder, I have never seen anything like it."

"Let's just be glad she's on our side, shall we?" Baker took a step forward, steadying himself on a hand rail, "Jenny?"

"Yes?" The young woman asked, still swaying.

"We should keep moving." The Sergeant suggested, "The others might need out help."

"Okay." Jenny ejected the spent magazine from her gun and loaded in a fresh one without opening her eyes. She pulled back the lever, chambering the first round and looked down the semi-lit passage way, her eyes now open and alert, "Stay behind me."

* * *

"Am I the only one who thinks that staying here is tantamount to suicide?" Hardcastle looked around the corner: there was no sigh on the Genecaste that been following them, but that meant exactly nothing, "I saw that we head down to the engine room and fine the Sergeant Major?"

"I agree." Shen nodded, pulling the stock of her 9mm sub machine-gun tight into her shoulder, "The situation is fast becoming out of hand." She looked at the two deckhands from the _Bulldog_ who were following them, "Watch our backs; I don't want something nasty to sneak up on us. We advance in twos; cover formation."

"I'll take point." Hardcastle pushed off from the wall and shot round the corner, grabbing a hand rail to spin himself into a doorway, his laser-carbine pointed down the passageway.

Shen followed with calm precision, using the gravity free environment to come to a stop across the corridor from her lance-mate, a final twist at the end leaving her 'upside down' compared to Hardcastle. The deckhands followed close behind, unwilling to be left to fend for themselves in the dark and twisted nightmare that the ship had turned into.

**

* * *

**

"We're loosing him!" Lieutenant Josef 'King-Zeus' King yelled as he tried to re-apply the bandage to the sucking wound in Taplin's chest.

"God damn you sir!" O'Hara cursed, "I will not have you die on me!"

A loud bang shook the hatch they were hiding behind as the Genecaste made another attempt to force it open. Their claw-like fingers had already claimed the lives of two Techs and had carved up Captain like a Sunday roast. With each impact, the carbon bar holding the hatch closed bent a little more, and it was only a matter of time before it gave way entirely. With almost no ammunition left and just three uninjured MechWarriors to hold them off, it was a forgone conclusion that the Genecaste would get in and finish their dire task of annihilating the entire squad.

"We're spam-in-a-can!" Cadet Drake Brandt, the teams youngest member screamed.

"Yeah, so?" O'Hara slipped the last power cell into her laser pistol and gripped it tightly with both hands, "We've all got to go some time. Most people have no choice in how they meet their end; only how they face it when it comes. Personally, if Death is coming for me today, then I'm going to make the bastard pay dearly for it!"

* * *

Kerensky tossed his useless SMG at the screaming Genecaste advancing on him: the sharp edges of the smashed plastic stock cutting deeply into the leather-like skin of the abomination. Reacting instinctively, he grabbed the knife from his belt and held it at the ready.

Driven by rage and pain, the Genecaste leaped at him, trying to rip the flesh from his bones with its bare hands. Kerensky responded with his feet, fists, knees and elbows, spitting curses in English and Russian as his blade slashed back and forth.

Blood flowed feely as the two continued that dance of death.

**

* * *

**

Humansquish felt a strange sense of calm come over him as the hatch started to open. His hands brought up the big Zeus rifle to his hip one their own, his thumb flipping the selector switch to full-auto without a moments hesitation. The two crew-members looked at each other with ashen faces as they headed the inhuman cries of the Genecaste from the widening gap.

Time seemed to slow down.

The hatched opened enough to guarantee a clear shot, and Humansquish's finger squeezed the trigger. The rifle barked, shaking in his hand as round after round flew from the barrel. It seemed as if the MechWarrior could almost see each and every bullet as they tore into the Genecaste, knocking them back through the hatch one-by-one. But still they came, using their dead to provide what little cover they could as they forced the hatch open inch-by-inch. Humansquish moved the rifle from side to side, gunning them down, his face an emotionless mask.

Something deep inside him, buried amid the hidden memories, had come alive. An odd sence of peace came over him as his gun worked its way through an entire drum magazine of .303 brass jacked rounds. He didn't even register the sound of the hammer hitting an empty chamber before he simply let the weapon go, drawing the two heavy revolvers from their holsters under each arm. His thumbs drew back the hammers in perfect union a split second before he pulled the triggers.

* * *

_DropShip_ Bulldog  
_Pirate Point  
__Uninhabited system  
__Federated Commonwealth  
__3rd September 3064_

Kobayashi sat looking at the screen: each member of the search parties had been handed a locator tag so their progress could be monitored. The tags were worn like bracelets, and picked up the wearers heartbeat, indicating if they were alive or dead. One side screen was filled with names next to the official unit photo of the person it belonged to. Many of them had red crossed through them, indicating that the wearer was dead. As he watched, the tag indicating Captain James 'Biggles' Taplin flashed momentarily, before it too was marked with a red cross.

"God help us..." The Davion lawyer groaned.

"God?" Captain Penwald asked, "What makes you think that bastard has anything to do with what's happening here?"

**To Be Continued...**

_This story is no longer affiliated with the HPG Uplink in any way.  
__Their decision, not mine, but it frees me to up the body count at will._


	16. Forging the Sword

**Slackers of the Inner Sphere  
****Chapter 16: ****Forging the Sword**

_SLS_ Wildfire  
_Pirate Point  
__Uninhabited system  
__Federated Commonwealth  
__3__rd__ September 3064_

"_Boldly they rode and well into the Jaws of Death,_" Baker muttered to himself as he edged along the passageway, "_into the Mouth of Hell, road the six hundred_."

"_Flash'd all their sabres bare, Flash'd as they turn'd in air, Sabring the gunners there,_" Steele continued, "_Charging an army, while All the world wonder'd: Plunged in the battery-smoke Right thro' the line they broke; Cossack and Russian Reel'd from the sabre stroke, Shatter'd and sunder'd. Then they rode back, but not, Not the six hundred._"

"You've read Tennyson?" The Sergeant asked.

"The Charge of the Light Brigade is seen as an important lesson in many ways." The former Clan officer nodded, "On the one hand, it is a warning to never assume that those under your command know everything you know. And on the other, it tells us that following orders, no matter how foolish they may seem, can be an important virtue in a warrior."

"Yet you used contractions?" Baker asked, "I thought that was a big no-no?"

"It is allowed, when quoting poetry and song." Steele shrugged, "For some reason, Shakespeare just does not work without them."

**

* * *

**

"**WHY WON'T YOU JUST DIE?**" Swindelli grabbed the nearest thing at hand, which turned out to be a fire-extinguisher, and hurled it at his opponent. The Genecaste cough it and snarled as Swindelli pointed his one remaining gun at him, "**SMILE YOU SON OF A...**"

The sound of the gunshot drowned out any words, but it paled in comparison to the detonation of the fire-extinguisher as the highly compressed CO2 suddenly found a way out. The steel contain was ripped to shreds as the gas fought to find a way out, turning itself into an impromptu fragmentation grenade. The effects ware instantaneous: the Genecaste's face and upper torso were ripped to pieces as force of the explosion sent it flying into the nearest bulkhead with enough force to crack its skull.

Fixing his feet against the deck, Swindelli span his guns round as the next Genecaste assailant dived at him. His fist was a blur as it moved through the air, the solid metal of the pistol grip hitting the Genecaste in the jaw. Blood and teeth filled the air, fanning out onto the bulkhead even as Swindelli's other arm came round at a much lower angle, gutting up with equal force to the first. The few teeth that the Genecaste had left proved more than enough to slice off his tongue, sending even more blood spraying all over Swindelli.

* * *

The cry of triumph that erupted from Kerensky's throat was raw and savage, calling back to the dawn of time, before the birth of civilisation. The deepest, oldest part of his mind basked in the savageness of the kill, while he himself was disgusted that he was capable of such an act. His eyes wide with rage, blood pumping though his body with a thundering tempo as adrenalin powered his every move. The only other Genecaste in the compartment looked at him, saw the fire burring behind his eyes, and took a step back.

A fresh war-cry filled the air as Kerensky kicked off from the bulkhead behind him and flew through the air towards the Genecaste. The knife in his hand was still slick with the blood of his last opponent, but it had ceased being a weapon: it was part of him, an extension of his body. There could be only one outcome as Kerensky unleashed a savage attack, the crimson tinted blade slashing back and forth as he unleashed the beast lurking within his mind.

**

* * *

**

Humansquish stood in the middle of the ship's bridge, an island of calm amid the chaos that surrounded him. He held a mismatched pair of SMG's taken from the Genecaste, who even now attempted to pull the reinforced hatch back open after the two techs had managed to close it. His breathing was slow and shallow, his eyes closed as he took a moment to re-centre himself: he didn't remember where he'd picked up the meditation technique, but it always helped him to

"I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me." He tightened his grip on the guns, feeling the cold metal in his hot, sweaty palms, "And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain."

Opening his eyes, he looked at the hatch at it finally gave way, almost crushing the techs as they dove for cover behind the captains chair. Humansquish brought up his guns and pulled the trigger, sending twin streams on 9mm death forward as he started to walk towards the attackers. For the first time in as long as he could remember, his mind was clear, free of the cloud that had been hanging over it. While his mind could still not remember his past, his body could, and he let instinct guide his actions.

* * *

Jenny stopped dead just before an intersection, holding up one hand to signal the others to stop. She held up two fingers, then motioned two her left. Steele nodded as he edged his way towards the junction, his heavy laser pistol held tightly with both hands.

"Thunder!" A voice, just above a whisper, came from around the corner, "Thunder!"

"Flash." Steele countered, letting out the breath he'd been holding.

"What in the name of John Wayne's ghost do you guys think you're doing?" Swindelli slipped round the corner, followed by the only other surviving member of his team, a terrified looking young man who hugged his carbine like a drowning man holding onto a life preserver, "And who told you to give the crazy lady a god-damn gun?"

"It seemed like the lesser of two evils, at the time." Baker shrugged, "And considering what she can do..." He shook his head, "I'm going to get fall-down drunk when this is all over."

"Yet another story for another time." Swindelli took a moment to asses the situation, "I don't know about you guys, but I've not seen any more of these sorry sons-of-bitches for a while now. Any chance we've got them all?"

"We need to find how they got onto the ship in the first place to be sure." Baker thought for a moment, "Get me to the bridge, and I'll have a go at getting the internal sensors and intercom on-line. At least then we're know where everyone is."

"What about weapons?" Steele asked.

"Depends." The NCO shrugged, "Things like helm control, weapons and the hyper-drive were probably locked down by the original crew before they left."

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves here, people: one thing at a time." Swindelli pointed out, "Okay, we head to the bridge and try and restore communications. If we can do that, we can at least signal the _Bulldog_ to come pick us up."

**

* * *

**

"Captain?" Humansquish cocked his head to the side as he looked at Kerensky: the former Clan Wolf Star Captain was covered from head to toe in blood, his once pristine uniform had been ripped and cut to shreds, his rank insignia missing. "You look like I feel."

"I could say the same about you." Kerensky smiled wearily, his body begging to demand payment for its former state, "I found these guys down in the cargo bay." He nodded towards O'Hara, King and Brandt, "I regret to inform you that Captain Taplin did not survive."

"Another one we owe them for." Humansquish vowed, then stepped aside to allow the others through the shattered hatch, "They will know pain, they will know suffering, and then, and only then, they will die."

**To Be Continued...**


	17. Extreme Prejudice

**Slackers of the Inner Sphere  
****Chapter 17: ****Extreme Prejudice**

_SLS_ Wildfire  
_Pirate Point  
__Uninhabited system  
__Federated Commonwealth  
__4__th__ September 3064_

"You two are dumber than a bag of hammers." Baker shock his head as he walked past Hardcastle and Shen, "Next time I tell you to stay put, try and think of it as an order."

"You're not that good on following orders yourself, boss." Hardcastle pointed out with a lopsided grin, "And we missed you."

"I'll give you something to miss is you ever disobey a direct order again!" Swindelli hissed as he sat in the command chair, looking round the bridge, "Okay, we're here. What now?"

"Now I try and get the internal sensors up and running while one of you guys starts work on getting word to the _Bulldog_." Baker pulled his tool kit from his belt and walked over to the life support station, "Plan B should always be 'run away very fast'"

"That is a very cowardly outlook on life." Steele sounded disgusted, "A Warrior should never run from a fight."

"Yeah, you go run head-first into the jaws of death." The Sergeant shook his head, "After all, we really _need_ another dead hero right about now."

"Nock that shit off." Swindelli snapped, "Baker, get the internal sensors working. Steele, secure that hatch; the last thing we need is another Genecaste sneak-attack."

**

* * *

**

_DropShip_ Bulldog  
_Pirate Point  
__Uninhabited system  
__Federated Commonwealth  
__4__th__ September 3064_

"We're getting something from the _Wildfire_; very weak, almost lost in the background." Penwald cupped his hands around his ears in a bid to try and hear more, "Sounds like old Morse Code; mine a little rusty, but that's definitely the Major's ID code."

"What's he saying?" Kobayashi leaned over the ships captain.

"They've managed to get most of the survives back to the bridge, and are trying to get the ships systems back on-line." Penwald paused for a moment, "They say we're to pull back out security teams from the airlock and pull the ship back to the _Vital Spark_."

"If there is one thing I know, it is that Major Swindelli has a well developed sense of self-preservation, and wouldn't give such an order without very good reason." The lawyer nodded his agreement, "We do as he says."

* * *

_SLS_ Wildfire  
_Pirate Point  
__Uninhabited system  
__Federated Commonwealth  
__4__th__ September 3064_

"You have no sense of humour what so ever." Swindelli shook his head, "I'm sorry, but it's true; I notice these things."

"I have a sense of humour." Shen protested.

"Okay." The Major looked at her, arms folded across his chest"Tell us a joke?"

"A joke?" The young woman thought for a second, "Okay, here's one: why did Kali Liao cross the road?"

"I don't know; why did Kali Liao cross the road?" Swindelli asked.

"Because someone throw a brightly coloured ball!" Shen answered with a smile.

"That is, without a doubt, the single _worst_ joke I have ever heard!" Baker shook his head, "Dear God woman, never, ever try and tell a joke, _ever_ again."

"All joking aside, haven't you got that thing working yet?" Swindelli asked the NCO.

"This thing?" Baker gestured over his shoulder at the main command station, then promptly slammed his elbow into it. The emergency lights flickered for a moment, then everything came to life, "Loose connection." he smiled, "Happens all the time."

"_Wyatt Earp's balls!_" Swindelli exclaimed as he looked at the tactical read-out, "Are the weapons really all on-line?"

"Well, they're receiving power, but the safety interlocks are still in-place." Baker shook his head, "But it looks like we should be able to patch the hyper-drive and replace the Helium-coolant lost in the original accident. I am, however, going to have to run a full diagnostic sweep to make sure that our uninvited guests didn't leave anything behind." He took a deep breath, "As far as I can tell they're all dead, but I have picked up an anomalous heat signature 200-clicks off the port bow that could very well be their ship, and it does seem to be on an intercept course . Now, with our weapons inoperative and only no fighter-support, we are, to put it bluntly, more than a little screwed if they have anything approaching a decent weapons load over there, so I'm going to have to ask permission to try something we played with on a simulator back at NAIS; it's a tactic that is somewhat bizarre, and extremely risky."

"Sir, I'm sure I'm seeking for everyone here, but I think we'd prefer to go with the bizarre and risky." Humansquish stood leaning against the bulkhead, "Worked for us so far."

"For lack of any better plan of action..." Swindelli shrugged, "Do what you got to do."

Baker stood and made his way over to the helms station and sat down, securing the five-point harness before looking round the rest of the room, "You guys might want to find something to hold on to; this is going to be a little bumpy."

The others dived for what cover they could as the NCO brought the ships manoeuvring thrusters on-line. While the system had not been used for almost four hundred years, the tanks of fuel and oxidiser were still almost full and pressurised. They responded to the commands, long formant serves opening values in the correct order, mixing the two chemicals in the combustion chamber then funnelling the resulting reaction our the thruster-ports.

From space, the entire ship seemed to shudder momentarily, the thin layer of space-dust that had built up over the years shacking loose as it slowly begin to spin round on its centre of axis. Counter-trustees fired, bringing the entire ship to rest with its rear point directly at the approaching Genecaste ship.

"Anyone want to make a wish?" Baker asked over his shoulder, "Because I'm about to light one _hell_ of a candle."

A second sun appeared in the sky as the _Wildfires_ main inter-system drive came to life, a reaction powerfully enough to accelerate the ship at a constant 3-G's spewing forth a spike of super-hot plasma that burned hotter than the surface of any star. The patchwork armour on the Genecaste ship held out for a few seconds, then melted and slowed like butter under a blow-torch, exploding outwards as the structural-integrity failed, venting atmosphere into space. Broken and dying, the ship was blown off course, spinning off into the eternal night of deep space.

The blinding glair of the drive faded out, leaving just a fain cherry-red after glow. The thrusters fired again, spinning the slender 318-meter ship round a 180-degrees until it was slowly drifting backwards, its bow pointed towards the _Bulldog_ and the _Vital Spark_. A second, more controlled burst from the inter-system drive slowed the ship to a halt, then gently set it on a return course towards the other two ships. A few staggered bursts from the bow thrusters brought the ship to a relative stop, her running lights glowing for the first time since the fall of the Star League.

"And that, is how we do that" Baker leant back in his seat, hands behind his head, "People tend to forget that the drive plume from the station-keeping drives on even a civilian JumpShip can vaporise any fool who gets too close."

"If I ever get on your bad side, let me know." Hardcastle shook his head in disbelief, "Because I would really like the chance to apologise."

"You get that far onto my bad-side, you'll never know it, trust me." The Sergeant yawned, "I have no surviving enemies, at all."

"How long to patch up the hyper-drive?" Swindelli asked, trying to release the knots of tension that had built up in his shoulders over the last 24-hours, "I for one do not want to be here if any of their friends come looking for them."

"The original crew managed to fix most of the systems." Baker pulled a palm-top computer out of one pocket and tapped away at the controls for a few seconds, "I want to double-check the patches, make sure they'll hold, but we should be ready to re-fill the helium tanks in another day or so."

"But grab a shower first, please." Kerensky wrinkled his nose, "The air scrubbers in here are not fully operation yet, Quaff?"

**

* * *

**

_JumpShip_ L. Ron Hubbard  
_Zenith Jump Point  
__Redfield system  
__Federated Commonwealth  
__4__th__ September 3064_

"**WHY, BLESSED BLAKE, WHY?**" Jamal's screams echoed off the walls of the small cabin, "**WHY DO YOU TEST ME SO?**"

"The ways of the Blessed One are not for us to question, sir." Hawksmoor suggested timidly, knowing that it wouldn't take much to turn the Demi-Precenter's anger towards her, "But they will become clear at the appointed time."

"Yes, yes; perhaps you are right, my loyal Sapphire." Jamal relaxed slightly, the worry lines on his face fading slightly, "They are an illusive pray; cunning and unpredictable. What we need... what we need is a Bloodhound!"

"A Bloodhound, sir?" The Adapt looked at him blankly.

"A Bloodhound, my dear; a born hunter who can tract them down for us." There was a dangerous glint in the Demi-Precenter eye, "Why, after all, should we expend our own strength when we can have others do it for us?"

"Send a Mercenary to catch the Mercenaries, sir?" Hawksmoor positively glowed, "A wonderful plan!"

"Indeed it is." Jamal played with the end of his thin, immaculately maintained beard, "How could it not be? Am I not the one who came up with it?"

* * *

_SLS_ Wildfire  
_Pirate Point  
__Uninhabited system  
__Federated Commonwealth  
__8th September 3064_

"Okay, time to see if this thing works." Swindelli secured himself into the captains chair, "We pull this off, and we'll have done what only a handful of Mercenary units have done before; recovered a warship."

"If it holds together and doesn't blow up in our faces." Baker muttered under his breath, before adding, "I really wish you'd given me another couple of days to test everything. We are sitting in the middle of one of the most complex devices ever created by man."

"Fortune favours the bold, Mr Baker." The Major shook his head, "Sometimes you have to grab life by the throat and demand it plays ball." He looked across at the rooms only other inhabitant, "We set?"

"I've locked-in the the coordinates for the Nadia jump-point, Shoreham system." London reported from the navigators station, "It's less than 15 light years from here, so it shouldn't tax the Hyperdrive."

"Shoreham?" Baker looked worried, "Can't we go somewhere else?"

"No; we need somewhere close where we can get parts, and that means the recharge station at Shoreham." Swindelli shook his head, "Anyway, the stations in pro-Victor hands, even if the planet is pro-Katherine ." He looked at the NCO, "Why? What's wrong with Shoreham?"

"It's... personal, sir." Baker looked away, "I'd rather not talk about it."

"Then Shoreham it is." Swindelli looked forward at the main screen, "Take us out."

For a moment it felt like God had grabbed the universe and stretched it out like a gigantic rubber band, then suddenly let go. No one had ever successfully explained just what the human mind experienced in the split second of time it took to transmit between stars, but it was agreed that subjectively, it did take longer. Some people spoke about becoming one with the universe, while others saw nightmarish visions that could drive a sane man mad.

For the three on the Wildfires bridge though, all they saw was a blinding white flash, and the small, dull red-dwarf star they had been in orbit of was replaced by a much larger orange main-sequence star. The IFF system it up with challenges from the nearby space station and her attendant DropShips and fighters. They could also see the twin dots indicating the waiting _Bulldog_ and _Vital Spark_.

"Well, I would like to be the first to congratulate the two of you on a textbook jump." Swindelli smiled, "Miss London, contact the station, tell them who we are and what we need in the way of supplies. Mr Kobayashi can arrange payment as needed."

"Shit." Baker banged his head against the engineers station and closed his eyes, "Why did it have to be Shoreham?"

**To Be Continued...**


	18. An Offer You Can't Refuse

**Slackers of the Inner Sphere  
****Chapter 18: ****An Offer You Can't Refuse**

_Recharge Station  
__Nadia jump-point  
__Shoreham system  
__Federated Commonwealth  
__10__th__ September 3064_

The small bar was quiet and dark, the huge sail that collected the stars energy casting a permanent shadow over the triple-reinforced windows. Only a couple of station personnel sat at the bar itself, leaving the other tables to the shadows. Swindelli put his glass down on the polished table, the rich amber of the Glengarry Special Reserve reflecting what little light there was. The drink was damned expensive, and almost impossible to get outside of the Skye region itself. But somehow the bars owner had managed to get some, and was willing to sell it, even if a single shot cost more than a bottle of most high-quality whiskies.

The MechWarriors heard the polished oak doors open and his experience eye immediately picked up on just how the suits the two men who entered were cut; just loose enough under the arms to all but hide the guns each carried in a shoulder holster. Their eyes, hidden behind what looked like regular sunglasses, scanned the room, lingering on him just a moment too long for comfort.

While Baker and Kobayashi had done everything they could to make sure the station was safe, there was always the possibility that the lose coalition of forces that controlled the station might decide that having a having a ship full of Mercenaries sitting outside was too much of a security risk, maybe even a ploy by the Loyalist forces controlling Shoreham itself. His fingers gripped the heavy laser pistol at his side as the two goons looked at each other and nodded. One remained beside the door while the other opened it and gestured to someone waiting outside. A tall man in a very expensive looking suit stepped through, accompanied by a second pair of guards. He glanced at Swindelli for a moment, then walked over to the bar and said something to the head bartender.

Swindelli looked at the man intently; his hair was almost completely white, with just a few flecks of grey left, and sat messily on his shoulders. In contrast, his short beard and moustache were neatly trimmed. He must have been almost 2-meters tall, and walked with a noticeable limp in his right leg as he cross the small room and stood beside the table, the four guards watching him like hawks.

"Mr Ricardo Swindelli, I presume." He smiled, his thick highland accent strangely fitting his friendly and open face, "May I sit with ye now?"

"Depends." The Mercenary cocked an eyebrow, "Any particular reason why you'd want to sit here and not some place else?"

"At no other table would I find you, Major, and it is with you I wish to be speaking." The stranger sat, "Allow me to introduce myself; my name is William Sharpe, CEO and majority shareholder of Sharpe Medical, although I doubt you've ever heard of us."

"Name rings a bell." Swindelli sat up, "So, what can I do for you?"

"You can let me write you out a blank cheque. In return for which, I need to to retrieve something for me, something down on Shoreham." Sharpe sat back, "I'd go myself, but being a Capellan citizen makes such a journey, difficult at best, shall we say. Even sitting here, talking to you, is costing me more money then you'll ever see in your life time. But no fortune would make that planet safe for me."

"You're obviously well connected; why not have someone on Shoreham find whatever it is you lost?"

"Because I am, while I might not look it, a Capellan, and Shoreham is a frontier world that has suffered more than one attack by my people over the years. There are those who, I am sure, would like nothing more than to get a little payback by causing me even more trouble."

"So you want me, a Mercenary who can never go home, to go down to a planet you can never visit, and pick up some keepsake you somehow managed to loose? No, something doesn't sit right here."

"I never said it was a thing I lost." Sharpe sat back in his chair as the waiter appeared with a fresh, full bottle of Glengarry Special Reserve, "My youngest son, Ian, has always been a wee bit headstrong, and wanted to be a MechWarrior. I used all of my contacts to keep him out of the CCAF and most major Mercenary units, but he managed to find one that would take him. That unit was contracted by the government on Shoreham two years ago to help put down a rebellious element within the local militia, and has not been seen or heard from since. I want you and your people to find out what happened to my son, and dead or alive, bring him back to me."

**

* * *

**

"How many ways can I say this?" Baker tilted his head to the side for a moment, "No, nah, nope, no way, not a chance, non, nein, não, net, and my personal favourite, man falling off a high cliff; '_Nooooooooooooooo_!'"

"I will take that as a 'no' then, shall I?" Kerensky sighed, leaning against his cue, "I can understand your reluctance, I do, but this is an important mission."

"Some spoilt little rich-kid wants to play at being a MechWarrior and bites off more than he can chew?" Baker laughed, "Why should I give a shit? Anyway, Shoreham's a Loyalist world; I go down there, I might as well hand myself over to Loki and be done with it."

"There's more to it than that, isn't there?" Swindelli looked up from the pool table, "You're scared; you never wanted to come to this system in the first place. Why not?"

"We all have our little secrets, some even Kobayashi doesn't know." Baker put his beer down, "If I go to Shoreham, people will die. Maybe even you."

"I'm a Mercenary; I live a violent life, and will probably die before my four-score and ten are up." Swindelli hut the cue-ball, sending it spinning across the table to sink the last of the yellows, "I accepted that a long time ago. Now you're MI-6, or you were until you had your little run-in with Loki on New Avalon, and that means that you made the same choice I did. But if we take this job, and do it right, the way I want to do it, then nobody has to get hurt."

"I can give you a name, that's all." Baker walked over to the jukebox and examined the play-list, "The only condition is you can never say who you got it from; not Kobayashi, not to anyone." he closed his eyes, "The only person I know on Shoreham is Hitomi Hanzo, and while I very much doubt that she's an active member of any resistance, she should be able to point you in the right direction."

"Can we trust her?" Kerensky asked, sinking the 8-ball and winning the game.

"If you trust me, you can trust Hitomi; we were at NAIS together, but she had to drop out about three years ago." Baker explained, "Her father got sick, and there was some kind of trouble with her brother." He shrugged, "It gets complicated after that."

* * *

_DropShip_ Bulldog  
_Inbound  
__Shoreham system  
__Federated Commonwealth  
__11__th__ September 3064_

"One name, that's all he gave you?" Kobayashi paced back and forth in confusion, "That's all a fully trained MI-6 Agent could give you about a planet that is still hotly contested between pro-Victor and pro-Katherine forces?"

"There was no doubt more, but I didn't feel like pushing." Swindelli shrugged, "God only knows what that guys capable of, especially with Jenny following him round like a lost puppy. Anyway, you saw how hard he had to work to convince the guys on the station he was one of them; do you really think he'd be any help to use once we land, even without Loki gunning for him."

"Baker has his secrets, as have we all, we have to respect his privacy." Kerensky agreed, "I do not think that he would do anything to deliberately endanger us or the mission."

"Okay, I'll let it slide, for now." Kobayashi stopped pacing, "What else do we know about this Hanzo woman?"

"She's some-kind of specialist gunsmith in the city of Lancing." Swindelli looked up, "Truth be told, I'm kind of looking forward to meeting her; any 'gunsmith' who Baker hangs around with has got to be into something a little more interesting than your average 12-gage for shooting pheasants with on a Sunday."

"You said you had a plan." Kobayashi sat at the small conference table, "What is it?"

"Lord Fenner, the local big-wig tried to impose Katherine's rule with the aid of some Lyran armchair General called Sir Henry Simmerson." Swindelli explained, "The head of the local Militia rebelled and led the bulk of his forces to a Star League era fortification known locally as the Blasted Redoubt. They've been held out there for two local years, controlling most of the countryside, while Lord Fenner and his goons hold all the cities and major towns. My plan is to find a way to contact the Militia let him know that we just want Mr Sharpe's son, or at least his remains. If we do this right, we might be able to get in and out without even touching a weapon."

"You've got balls, I'll give you that." Kobayashi laughed, "I've already sent a message to the planetary authorities, letting them know just what we have planned; hopefully they won't get in our way, but I can't promise anything."

**

* * *

**

_JumpShip_ L. Ron Hubbard  
_Zenith Jump Point  
__Redfield system  
__Federated Commonwealth  
__11__th__ September 3064_

"We have them, Sir!" Hawksmoor burst through the hatch, then span round and closed her eyes tightly, "Sorry, Sir!"

"Knock on my door!"Jamal yelled, "Knock next time!"

"Yes, Sir!"

"Did you see anything?"

"No, sir! I didn't see you playing with you dolls again."

"Good, that's...good." Jamal managed to compose himself, "What is it, Adept?"

"We've found them, Sir, the Mercenaries." Hawksmoor managed to look everywhere but at her superior, "They've put into the recharge station in the Shoreham system, sir, just one jump away. Our contact said that they've taken a short-term contract, and should be there for a few months at least."

"Excellent, excellent." Jamal smiled, "Now, tell the captain to make ready to take us to the stars other jump-point: no need to tip our hand just yet." He stood, "Have him call me before we jump; I want to be on the bridge for this one."

"Sir, if I can make one little suggestion?" Hawksmoor blushed, "Maybe you should get dressed first."

**To Be Continued...**


	19. The Law Of The Gun

**Slackers of the Inner Sphere  
****Chapter 19: ****The Law Of The Gun**

_DropShip_ Bulldog  
_High Orbit  
__Shoreham  
__Federated Commonwealth  
__20__th__ September 3064_

"Why must we sit here doing nothing?" Steele all but snarled, "We are MechWarriors: Where we tread, the earth sunders. Where we rage, cities die. Our our enemies fear us, and their deaths will be deaths of fire..."

"You start that rant one more time, I will knock you into next week." Swindelli looked up from studying his next move on the small chessboard set between himself and Kobayashi, "None of want to be stuck up here, but Lord Fenner is unhappy with the idea of more than a company of Mercenary BattleMech's dropping onto his world when almost all of his standing militia has mutinied, including their own BattleMech force."

"Paranoid isn't the word." The units lawyer nodded, "What little we've been able to intercept from the local press tells us that he has cracked down hard to try and regain control. The only problem is that every time he tries to tighten his grip, more and more people go over to the other side, fuelling his paranoia."

"So we must tread carefully, Quaff?" Kerensky asked.

"Very." Swindelli moved his Rook, "Check..."

"...and mate." Kobayashi countered immediately, "The McKenna Defence; a very easy trap to fall into, if you get over confident."

"I saw it two moves ago." Kerensky smiled, "But it would have been unsporting to say anything. I must congratulate you both on a well-played game."

"And alas, games are all we can do right now." Swindelli offered his hand to Kobayashi, who shook it, "Get onto Fenner's people again; see if he'll let us send a shuttle down, just Kerensky and I. While we promised Baker that we wouldn't try and contact Hanzo through open channels, he did give us her last know address, so maybe we can go pay her a visit."

"I'll see what I can do, but I make no promises." Kobayashi stood, the small magnets in his shoes keeping him from drifting off of the deck, "Fenner has good reason to be paranoid: a lot of people would like to see him dead."

**

* * *

**

_JumpShip_ L. Ron Hubbard  
_Zenith Jump Point  
__Shoreham system  
__Federated Commonwealth  
__20__th__ September 3064_

"Sir, while I do not doubt you, I have to ask if you fully relies what you are doing?" Hawksmoor looked at the image on the main screen, "He doesn't like us."

"He may not have seen the True Path, but he is still a man of great personal honour and integrity." A sly smile played across Jamal's face, "The trick is to know how to use that to do our bidding."

"And how will you do that, sir?" The Adapt asked.

"By appealing to the angels of his better nature, my dear." Jamal looked at the image of the screen intently, "How else?"

**

* * *

**

_Eavesdown Space-Port  
__Shoreham  
__Federated Commonwealth  
__21__st__ September 3064_

The rain was falling like a vertical sea, cutting viability to a few meters at best while simultaneously soaking Swindelli and Kerensky as they dashed out from under the protection of the small shuttle that had brought them down from orbit. They cross the short distance to the customs hall and the automatic doors opened to admit them, the warm air of the climate controlled building hitting them with a near physical force.

"Next time, we come here during the summer." Swindelli muttered as he tried to dry himself off.

"It is Summer." A scruffy looking man in a scruffy dark green uniform uniform laughed, "You must be Major Swindelli and Captain Kerensky, right? Sergeant William Plunkett, Mercenary Liaison Department, Shoreham Planetary Militia."

"And just how big is the 'Mercenary Liaison Department'?" Swindelli asked somewhat sarcastically.

"You're looking at half of it." Plunkett gestured towards the other end of the building, "Come one, I've got a car waiting to take you to meet with the rest."

The rain abated somewhat once they passed over the low hills that separated the space-port from the city itself, the winding road following the monorail lines for kilometres before entering a long tunnel. Plunkett gunned the engine, the sending the staff car rocketing through the concert tube, the roar of its supercharged engine echoing back and forth like the war-cry of some enraged war-god.

"Damn, I love this part of my job!" The Sergeant laughed as they burst out into the open air again, "Government cars are allowed to ignore the speed limits, but you're only allowed to used them on government business..."

"I fail to understand you spheroids obsession with travelling at unsafe velocities." Kerensky looked at his commanding officer with a puzzled look on his face.

"It's a demonstration of skill and bravery; pitting yourself against the universe and daring it to try and kill you." Swindelli explained, "That, and it's bloody good fun!"

The roar of the engine fell as Plunkett shifted down through the gears, braking as they approached an armed checkpoint of the edge of it city. Two solders in black uniforms stood guard, a third watching from behind a pile of sandbags protecting a heavy machinegun. Swindelli noticed the light body armour and dark visored helmets all three guards wore, as well as the way Plunkett's eyes narrowed as he brought the car to a halt and lowered the window.

"Morning, laddies." He grinned as he held out his official pass, "What's the matter; your girlfriend give you an nasty STD again?"

The guard grunted something as he grabbed the pass and ran it through a scanner. There was a momentary delay, and both Swindelli and Kerensky noticed the fact that the other two guards kept the car covered at all times. Eventually the scanner seemed to give a positive response, and the guard tossed it back through the window before waving to his companion to raise the barrier. Plunkett put his foot down, sending up a shower of dust as the car took off, his arm extended out the window with his middle finger extended.

"I take it that you do not like them?" Kerensky asked.

"Damn black-shirts." The NCO spat, "His Lordships 'Personal Security Force', if you believe that; hired them all when the Colonel went AWOL with the bulk of the militia. They're supposed to keep civil order, which they do, after a fashion."

"I take it that you mean the 'step out of line and we'll come down on you like the proverbial ton of rectangular building blocks' peace?" Swindelli shifted uncomfortable, "I suddenly feel right at home..."

"Nah, you guy's are okay: last thing they want is the truth about exactly what's going on here getting out." Plunkett shook his head, "As long as you guys don't rock the boat, the black-shirts will stay away from you." He signed, "Anyway, I've been assigned to you as your general dogsbody; anything you want, just ask."

"We'd like to go to this address." Swindelli pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and passed it forward, "After our meeting with your superior, of cause."

"Let me have a look..." The drive took the note and looked at the address. The car fishtailed as he braked hard, finally coming to a stop at the side of the highway. Plunkett jumped out and pulled the passengers door open, gun in hand, "Okay, who the hell are you two, and why are you trying to get me killed?"

"I assure you that we have no intention of killing anyone." Kerensky raised his hands, "We are only looking for information."

"In the sodding Triangle?" Plunkett snapped, "What kind of information do you expect to find there? What it feels like to have your throat slit?"

"I'm sorry, but you've lost me." Swindelli looked up, "Could you start again from the beginning?"

"Shit!" Plunkett lowered his gun, but kept it pointed at the two MechWarriors, "The address you gave is in an area known as Whitehawk, a very, very bad part of town, even before the Civil War started. Now it's a virtual no-go area, even for the black-shirts; lot of pro-Davion factions held out there. His Lordship has to leave them alone because they control the cities main water treatment plant and electricity sub-station." He pulled a map out of the glove compartment, "They call it The Triangle because it's separated from the rest of the city by the rivers Adur and Arun, here and here."

"They have a superior tactical position." Kerensky noted, "I take it that as long as the cities supply of water and power are maintained, Lord Fenner is unwilling to attack..."

"...and as long as Fenner doesn't attack, the rebels won't cut of the water or power." Swindelli nodded, understanding, "What we have here is what they call a Marik Stand-off: on one wants to be the first to pull the trigger."

"Exactly." Plunkett threw the map back down onto the drivers seat, "The Triangle is a law unto itself, all but completely cut off from the rest of the city. There's talk of some kind of pony-express system running along the rivers then across the sea to to Northhold and the Blasted Redoubt, that's the Star League base where the bulk of the Militia is held out."

"If you do not mind me asking, why are you not with them?" Kerensky looked at the NCO, "You do not seem to like Lord Fenner or his people, yet you are still here."

"I have a sister, Mary." Plunkett leaned back against the car, "She's sick; some kind of reaction to an insect native to this planet. Maybe one in every thousand people just can't adapt to an enzyme they secrete when they bite you. She had a bad attack just before this all started, and had to go into hospital; some of the Black Shits made it clear that her continued well being is directly tied into my remaining 'loyal' to Fenner and the New Order."

"You are, as they say, between a rack and a hard place, Quaff?" Kerensky looked around, "The more I hear, the less and less I am liking this mission."

"You're not the only one." Swindelli rubbed his eyes, "Next time a guy in a bar offers me an 'easy' job, remind me to shoot him."

**To Be Continued...**


	20. Into The Triangle

**Slackers of the Inner Sphere  
****Chapter 20: ****Into The Triangle**

_M__ilitia HQ  
__Lancing City  
__Shoreham  
__Federated Commonwealth  
__21st September 3064_

The base was filled with Fenner's security troops, with only a handful of green and red Capellan March Militia uniforms to be seen. Plunkett drove across most of the base until they came to a low, nondescript building towards the rear. He parked the staff car then led the way through an unguarded door. The inside looked even worse than the outside: corridor was badly illuminated, many of light fittings broken or just missing. The cheep government-issue paint was peeling in places, and there were puddles on the floor from leaking pipes up near the ceiling.

"I apologise for the how it looks, but the damn Black-Shirts have taken over most of the base." Plunkett led them down a flight of stairs into a sub-basement area, "But with less than a hundred of us left in the 'official' Militia, it's hard to justify setting aside any of the new building for us. We used to use this place for storage."

"And just how many of these goons has Fenner taken on?" Swindelli asked, more than a little worried about the suspiciously new equipment they had seen on the way in, all of it painted black and gold.

"No one seems to know." Plunkett shrugged, "And that's not just my way of saying 'mind your own business'. His Lordship keeps the exact number a closely guarded secret." He stopped outside an unmarked door and knocked once before opening.

The man behind the desk looked up as the free of them filed in, but made no attempt to stand. Swindelli's first thought was that the man was being rude, but then he noticed the wheelchair, and the scare running down the left side of the man's face. The accompanying eye was unmistakable prosthetic, and not the expensive kind that were all but indistinguishable from the real thing.

"Major Swindelli, Captain Kerensky, may I introduce Captain James Macleane, head of the Mercenary Liaison Department." Plunkett smiled as he sank into a chair by the door and started to roll a cigarette, "These are the two Merc's you sent me to pick up, boss."

"Thank you, Will, I never would have guessed." Macleane rolled his eyes, "Welcome to Shoreham, gentleman. I see that Mr Sharpe has managed to find another couple of hired-guns to do his dirty work."

"I have a very bad feeling about this." Kerensky glanced at Swindelli, who nodded in agreement.

"Yeah, you're not the first people he's sent her looking for that Prodigal Son of his." Plunkett laughed, "Last lot went home, in boxes. Very, very small boxes."

"That's enough, Will." Macleane growled at his assistant, "Yeah, you're not the first people he's sent down here; first two were a pair of bounty hunters who ended up taking a job for Fenner. Turned out to be a mistake, as they managed to get themselves killed. After that, he's managed to convince three other people, that we know of, to come looking. None of them have ever gotten close to finding his son."

"Yeah, well, they were not us." Kerensky just shrugged, "And we just came here to be polite."

"Very few Mercenaries are so well manned." Macleane mused, "Even Ex-Clan such as yourself

"When I'm a guest in another man's house, I don't reach into his refrigerator without asking permission." Swindelli smiled, "But like my friend said, those other guys, not us; we didn't come here looking for any trouble from anyone."

"So they say!" Plunkett looked up, "They want to go over to Whitehawk, for information."

"You may not be looking for trouble, but that's all you'll find in Whitehawk." Macleane looked genuinely worried, "The Triangle is an area best left off your travel plans, if you want to get off this planet in one piece."

"We have reason to believe we might be granted safe passage." Swindelli shrugged, "Some friends of ours will have hopefully smoothed our way a little by now."

"Yes, a friend over in communications said they picked up an increased flow of traffic between the Recharge Station and the Blasted Readout." Macleane seemed resigned, "Well you've broken no laws as yet, and until Lord Fenner declares Martial Law, there's nothing I can do to stop you if you want to go commit suicide. Plunkett will take you as far as he can, but once you cross over the bridge, you're on your own."

**

* * *

**

_The Old Town Bridge  
__One Hour Later_

The staff car came to a stop next to what had once been a concessions stand of some kind, but now housed heavy machinegun and a full squad of Black-Shirts in full combat gear.

"And this is as far as I go." Plunkett turned round in his seat to look at the two passenger, "This is the only crossing point left; there are some people who live on one side of the river and work on the other, so a deal was struck to keep this bridge open. Make no sudden moves and what ever happens, don't go for a weapon; both sides have snipers armed with thermal-sights. You'll probably be stopped on the other side, and I guess then you'll see just how smooth your friends have made things." He offered his hand, "For what it's worth, good luck."

"Thank you." Swindelli shook the offered hand, "We'll try and not get killed."

"Indeed." Kerensky followed suit, then the two men stepped out of the car, shouldering their duffel bags and watching as Plunkett pulled back out into the sparse traffic and disappeared into the thick sea-fog that was rolling up off of the river.

"So?" The former Clan MechWarrior asked.

"So, now, we walk." Swindelli looked round at the bridge; the fog made it all but impossible to see more than a few meters ahead, but they could just make out the wall that ran along the near side.

Without even nodding to the guards, the two Mercenaries started across the bridge, soon finding themselves enveloped in the thick fog. In many ways it was like standing inside a massive ping-pong ball, the sounds of the city strangely hashed. The bridge itself seemed to be well maintained, a sure sign that the truce Plunkett had mentioned was more than just rhetoric. That said, they didn't see or hear anyone else until they reached the far end.

"Keep walking forward." An amplified voice ordered from somewhere ahead, "Have your ID papers ready."

The two men shared a look as they pulled out their M.R.B.C. cards. Issued on Outreach when they first registered as Mercenaries, it acted as a universal ID as well as a basic record of their past employment. The idea was to provide a means of identification that was recognised across known space. They hoped that it would be enough to prove that they were who they said they were if Baker and Kobayashi had failed to contact the rebels.

Stepping out of the fog, they found themselves standing in front of a rather well made and heavily fortified checkpoint, protected on both sides by concert pillboxes. A man in what looked like a basic urban camouflage suit waved them over, his over hand resting on the SMG slung round his neck. Kerensky's trained eye spotted at least two snipers in Ghille suits, probably lined with thermal isolation to hide them from praying eyes across the river.

But they were the obvious ones, the ones he was supposed to see; a warning to anyone who know what to look for that any sudden or hostile moves would be a terminal mistake.

Placing their ID's into the scanner built into the checkpoint, they stood and waited for it to link up with the local ComStar network and confirm that they were who their claimed to be through the local MercNet server. The lights blinked green and the guard ushered them through a gateway.

"Good-day, gentleman." A tall, grey-haired man in the same urban-camouflage BDU's as the guard stood waiting for them, "Major Nairn, CMM, at your service. We've been expecting you."

"Well, that's a start." Swindelli relaxed slightly, "I take it you know why we're here?"

"We know, and we're willing to let you try." Nairn led the way out of the fog along a deserted street, "You'll have to make your case to the Colonel himself, and you will be watched while in our territory: we've had more than one spy try an infiltrate our lines. The last was apparently from Loki."

"How did he die?" Kerensky asked dryly.

"Badly." Was the rebel officers only reply until they reached the far end of the street. A battered old taxi-cab was waiting for them, "Mr Ross here will take you anywhere you wish, within reason."

"Thank you." Swindelli nodded, but Nairn had already disappeared back into the fog. "Creepy old goat." he muttered under his breath before waving Kerensky to the car, "Let's go."

**To Be Continued...**


	21. Dragon Lady

**Slackers of the Inner Sphere  
****Chapter 21: Dragon Lady**

_  
Whitehawk  
__Lancing City  
__Shoreham  
__Federated Commonwealth  
__22nd September 3064_

Swindelli was surprised to find that he hadn't been murdered in his sleep. In fact, the small hotel the ever-silent Ross had taken them to was better than he had expected. In many ways, life inside The Triangle seemed better than it was in the rest of the city; while they had seen many solders dressed in the basic uniform the rebels seemed to have adopted, the civilians were going about their day to day life like nothing had happened. Small kids still played in the streets, and more shops were open than they had seen while Plunkett drove them around.

That thought led him back to reality, and the small, nondescript shop front that stood across the street from where he stood with Kerensky. Ross had been waiting for them when they left the hotel that morning, and had driven them without instruction to what appeared to be an old military base near the river that had at some point been converted into an industrial park. Aside from a few Militia patrols and a handful of vagrants, the entire area seemed abandoned, aside from the shop that bore the name '_Hanzo Armaments_'. Swindelli double checked the address against the one Baker had so reluctantly given them, then signalled for Kerensky to follow him across the road.

A buzzer sounded as they passed through the inner door and they stepped out into a well maintained shop that reminded Swindelli of the sort of places he had often seen back on his home world. A bored looking man of about twenty was leaning on the counter, talking to a man dressed, much to Swindelli's surprise, a police uniform. Both men looked at the new comers, then went back to their conversation.

"Can I help you?" A voice came from a doorway leading back from the behind the counter into some sort of office, "You look a little lost."

Swindelli did a quick double take as the owner of the voice stepped into view. She was maybe a head shorter than he was, and her build was slim without being bony, but it was hard to tell under the plain white t-shirt under an oil-stained boiler-suit. Her not-quite shoulder length raven-black hair was pulled back into a messy pony rail, and she had a smudge of something on her left cheek.

"Hitomi Hanzo?" He managed to ask without stuttering.

"Depends who's asking." The woman leaned against the door-frame, her emerald eyes narrowing slightly.

"I'm Major Ricardo Swindelli, and this is my second in command, Captain Dimitri Kerensky." The MechWarrior explained, "We're not Militia, and we don't work for Fenner."

"Then you must be the two Mercenaries Nairn called me about last night." The woman nodded, "Yes, I'm Hitomi Hanzo. Now, are you looking to buy some guns, or something else?"

"A mutual friend told us to talk to you." Kerensky explained, "He said that you might be able to help us find someone."

"Then I'm afraid that your friend was mistaken: I get buy by staying out of other people's business as much as I can." Hanzo turned round and started back through the door, "You can show yourselves out..."

"Jeff Baker sent us." Swindelli's words seemed to hit with the force of a hammer blow, "He works for me now: he's our senior NCO. Hell, he's our only NCO at the moment."

"Jeff sent you?" Hanzo looked back over her shoulder, trying to maintain a calm and level voice, "Then I guess you'd better follow me then." She led the way along a short corridor and through massively reinforced door that looked like it could withstand a blow from a Gauss Rifle.

The large room beyond was filled with small arms of every conceivable type: hand guns lay on a bench that stretched the length of one wall, while rifles of various types hung from the walls. Ammo crates had been stacked up on to of each other, while almost every other available surface was covered in tools and equipment.

"I've died and gone to heaven..." Swindelli looked round in awe.

"This place is equal parts workshop and showroom." Hanzo explained, "Out the front there, that's the kind of stuff you can find in any gun-shop in the Inner Sphere. That helps pays the bills, but it's just vanilla. But this, this is what I'm really into; custom weapons and advanced R&D. My father was perhaps the best gunsmith of his generation; every single major arms manufacturer in the Federated Commonwealth came to him at one time or another. And they all wanted a bit of the Kaito Hanzo magic."

"Some of this stuff must be worth a fortune." Swindelli picked up a massive rifle with three over-sized barrels arranged in a triangle, "What is this thing?"

"Back when the Clan's first showed up in 3049, everyone was caught a little off guard by the appearance of Elementals; no one had really looked at Battle Armour since the fall of the Star League, and they had nothing to combat them with." Hanzo took the weapon away and started to partly dismantle it, "The AFFC began what became known as '_Project Land Warrior_', an attempt to turn your average infantry grunt into something a little more formidable. Heckler & Koch came up with this; the Objective Individual Combat Weapon. This thing can fire a wide variety of ordinance: combat-shotgun shells, hollow-points, tracer, explosive-tipped, armour-piercing, kinetic energy penetrator, micro-grenade and air-burst rounds. Basically turns one solider into a fire-team. H&K could never get it to work, so they asked my father to look at it. Eventually High Command pulled the plug on _Land Warrior_, and the weapon was shelved." She quickly re-assembled the rifle, "My father never told them, but he got it working; this is the only working model known to exist," She cocked the weapon and levied it at the two men, "Now, let's start with who you really are and who really sent you."

"Should have known." Swindelli lamented as he raised his hands, "I told Kobayashi that anyone Baker hung around with would be a little unusual."

"Aff." Kerensky nodded, "And he did tell us to be careful..."

There was a thunderous crack as Hanzo pulled the trigger, three shotgun shells turning a poster on the wall into so much confetti. Swindelli and Kerensky flinched involuntarily as she re-cocked the weapon, chambering a fresh trio of shells.

"Oh, I'm sorry; did I break your concentration?" She asked more than a little sarcastically, "I guess Fenner must really be scraping the bottom of the barrel if he sent you two."

"Jesus H. Christ, Lady!" Swindelli screamed, "We've already told you that we don't work for Fenner!"

"You think you're the first people he's sent after me?" The gunsmith asked, the rifle not moving a multimeter, "I told them, after Hiro died, that I'd rather lay in the grave next to him than work for those damned Black-Shirts!"

"Damn Hitomi; you always were one for a warm reception." A new voice came from the back of the room, and everyone looked round in amazement.

"Baker?" Swindelli blinked as the newcomer stepped out of the shadows, "What in the name of Rowdy Yates are you doing here?"

"Kobayashi and I felt that you might need a little help." The Sergeant smiled, "What, with you being about as subtle as a brick through the window."

Hanzo lowered her gun and walked across the room to Baker. She seemed to examine him for a moment, making sure that he was whom he appeared to be. Her eyes narrowed as her hand came round with snake-like speed, the crack of her slap almost as loud as the discharge of the shotgun.

"I deserve that." He nodded, moving his jaw from side to side to make sure there was no serious damage.

"Bastard!" Hanzo snapped, then kissed him fully on the lips, with a lot more passion than either Swindelli or Kerensky would have expected.

"Is this behaviour normal in the Inner Sphere?" The former Clan Wolf warrior asked.

"Not exactly." Swindelli shook his head, then coughed, "Excuse me, can someone explain to me just what in hell is going on? Starting with how you even got here"

"Well first off, you guys don't seem to notice anyone as long as they dress in dirty overalls and a baseball cap. Secondly I handed in my resignation to Kobayashi before I made my way down here, in a orbital drop-pod. Not the best way to travel." Baker smiled, putting an arm round Hanzo, "And lastly, I may have forgot to mention along the way, what with everything being so complicated, that Hitomi is actually my wife..."

"Dung ee hwar..." Swindelli did a quick double take, "She's your what not?"

"I'm his wife." Hanzo pulled a simple gold chain out from under her t-shirt, an equally simply wedding-band hanging from the end, "We'd been dating for about a year before the Civil War started, and then everything got complicated with Jeff getting involved with the Resistance, and my father getting sick..."

"Hitomi had to come home, and I had to disappear, but we decided to make things official before she left New Avalon." Baker took up the story, "I did think about following here, especially after the Resistance told me to get out of town or they'd kill me themselves, but almost no one knew that we were married, so there was little or no chance of Loki coming after her."

"That's why you didn't want to come here." Swindelli nodded, finally understanding, "You didn't want to lead them too her."

"Believe me, I wanted to come; more than anything, but I couldn't take the chance." Baker shrugged, "Then when you took that job to find Sharpe's son, I knew that it was only a matter of time, so with a little help from my friends on the _Bulldog's_ crew, I managed to make my own way here. But like I said before: I've resigned, so you guys are going to have to do this alone."

"I understand." Swindelli smiled slightly, "And for what it's worth, good luck to the both of you."

**To Be Continued...**


	22. Braving The Storm

**Slackers of the Inner Sphere  
****Chapter 22: ****Braving The Storm**

_Whitehawk Docks  
__Lancing City  
__Shoreham  
__Federated Commonwealth  
__25__th__ September 3064_

The rain was now falling in an unending torrent, making it impossible to see more than a few meters at best, and showed no sign of letting up any time soon. Surface water covered the concrete dockside, and was sent up in huge plumes whenever a car or truck went past. Swindelli muttered a string of oaths and curses under his breath as he pulled his waterproof tight around his shoulder, huddling in the doorway of an abandoned building in a bid to keep out of the howling wind. Kerensky stood next to him, apparently unaffected by the cold.

"What the hell are we doing here?" Swindelli asked rhetorically, "Baker should have been here an hour ago. And why are we still trusting him, now he's handed in his resignation?"

"We lack any other contacts on this planet." Kerensky mused, "We could go back to see Captain Macleane, but I suspect that we would have to explain ourselves to Lord Fenner's men."

The Major grumbled a response under his breath, the dark expression on his face making it clear that he was in no uncertain terms open to further discussion. He knew, deep down, that he was partly to blame: they'd spent hours talking with Baker and Hanzo for hours after his former subordinates rather surprising appearance, mainly getting a better overview of the situation on planet. It had become clear that Baker was considered as much an outsider as anyone else, but was given a certain amount of leeway because of his relationship with Hanzo, who turned out to be the main suppler of small-arms to the insurgency. She had promised to use her contacts to try and at least get them over to Northhold, where they stood a better chance of finding any survives of the last Mercenary unit to visit the planet.

Unfortunately operational security demanded that the direct lines of communication between The Triangle and the Militia base known locally as the Blasted Readout were only used in emergencies. Still, they were in a better position than they had been, but his mood remained as bad as the weather. While Baker hadn't lied to him as such, Swindelli knew that the other man was still keeping secrets, playing his remaining cards so close to his chest that they might as well have been tattooed there. He was also upset, on at least one level, with the fact that Hanzo was unavailable; as well as being attractive, she was smart, had a good sense of humour and above all an almost encyclopaedic knowledge of firearms.

She was, in short, his perfect woman.

Any further thoughts on the issue were curtailed by the sound of an approaching ground car, and the appearance of the familiar black shape of the ever-silent Ross' taxi. The car stopped just in fount of the two Mercenaries and the rear door opened.

"You going to stand there all day, or are you going to get in?" Baker asked from the warm and dry confines of the vehicle. Both Swindelli and Kerensky sprinted through the rain, doing their best to keep their kit-bags dry as they unceremoniously dived into the back of the cab. The door shut and the car started back off down the dockside.

"You're in luck." Baker handed over a pair of towels, "Hitomi was able to convince Nairn to help you get as far as the port of Chichester over on Northhold. After that I'm afraid you're on your own. It would be best if we had no further contact; we don't want to give Fenner an excuse to hold you if and when you get back."

"You make it sound like our return in not a certainty." Kerensky looked up.

"That's because it isn't." A strange, hard look came across Baker's face, "Make no mistake, you are putting yourselves in harms way on this mission: the rout you must take to to Chichester is extremely dangerous, and while this storm may mask your passage, it presents its own damage."

"Yeah, storm, rough sea's, we get it." Swindelli replied sarcastically, "I think we can handle a little bad weather."

"We'll see." Baker shock his head as the taxi came to a stop outside a covered slipway, "This way, and try and not make anything what could be construed as hostile: the guards here operate on a very strict 'shoot first and don't bother about asking questions later' policy. You'll see why when we get inside."

The three men crossed the short distance doorway at a dead run, trying to minimise the time they had to spend out in the rain. A guard opened the door for them, and Swindelli almost stopped dead in his tracks when he saw the two concrete pillboxes in the lobby, the business ends of a pair of crew-served laser pointing out of their firing slits. Baker ushered them through another set of doors and down a short corridor until they reached the dock itself.

"Great Father's Bones!" Kerensky stood slack jawed at the sight that greeted them.

This ship had been a Monitor at some point, but it had undergone a lot of work since it had first been built. Where as once its turret had housed a pair of 120mm Autocannon's, there now sat a single Gauss Rifle, while the missile pods were noticeably bigger than they should have been. But the single biggest difference was that the formally flat hull was now set at a much steeper angle and was a black so dark that it was almost like you eyes wanted to slid off it.

"I hope you can understand why they were a little reluctant to let you in here unescorted." Baker explained, "The very existence of the _Kraken_ here and her sister-ship the _Leviathan_ are very closely guarded secrets."

"We'll try and remember that." Swindelli nodded, "I guess this is goodbye. Anything you want us to do with your _Templar_?"

"Just drop it off at the Recharge Station on the way out-system." Baker looked round to Ross, who had appeared out of nowhere carrying a pair of polished wooden boxes, "One last thing: a parting gift from Hitomi; she said something about needing all the help you can get." He took one box and opened it, revealing the biggest hand-gun Swindelli had ever seen; it was almost 30cm long, with the over-sized magazine placed a head of the trigger-guard. "Another abandoned AFFC project her father worked on before he died: the .75 calibre recoilless. Bullets are magnesium tipped, designed to punch through a suit of Elemental armour. Use them sparingly: each bullet costs more than a hundred pounds, but you can use sniper-rifle or heavy-machinegun ammunition if you find yourself in a tight spot. Just don't expect the same stopping power."

"Now that is what I call a gun!" Swindelli hefted the weapon, surprised at how light it felt, "Titanium?"

"Only way to make it light and strong enough to be of any use." Baker nodded, "Look, I know I have no right to ask this, but it's Jenny; I don't know what Kobayashi and our employers have in mind for her, but keep an eye on her for me. She didn't ask for the Blakists to mess with her head, and she's still just a kid, no matter what she can do."

"We will try and keep that in mind." Kerensky promised, "Good luck, my friend; I have a feeling that you will need it as much as we will."

**

* * *

**

_The _Kraken  
_Sea of Storms  
__Shoreham  
__Federated Commonwealth  
__27__th__September 3064_

The ship lurched violently under Swindelli's feet, throwing him face-first into the bulkhead with a sickening, wet crack. Groaning, he tried to regain his balance, but the Monitor was tossed back the other way by the rough seas, sending him sprawling to the deck.

"Major." Kerensky stood in the hatchway leading to the small cabin they chaired, one hand held out in an offer of assistance while the other braced himself as the storm continued to rock them back and forth. Swindelli took the offered hand and was finally able to pull himself through the hatch and onto his bunk, curling up into a ball of pain and misery.

"How the hell can anyone stand this?" He asked, "Humans weren't designed for this; it's unnatural!"

"Humans were designed to live in trees in a jungle on Terra." Kerensky managed to swing himself onto his own bunk, "Anything else could be considered 'unnatural'. But we think, we evolve, and we learn to adapt to strange new environments, or shape them to our will."

"It's been a long time since we shaped an environment to our liking." Swindelli thought for a moment, trying to summon up a memory from his youth, "_We are not now that strength which in old days moved earth and heaven; that which we are, we are. One equal temper of heroic hearts, made weak by time and fate, but strong in will. To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield_."

"_Ulysses_, by Lord Alfred Tennyson." Kerensky sounded impressed, "Though I doubt that even the Star League Corps of Engineers could change a planets weather system enough to eliminate storms; chaos theory tells us that it is impossible to map, therefore equally impossible to regulate."

"I don't get you sometimes." The Major managed to pull himself up into a seated position, braced between the edge of his bunk and the bulkhead. "I've seen you in a fight, and you're a natural, it's your _raison d'etre_: you fight, therefore you are are. Other times you sound like a philosopher."

"It is, as you said, my _raison d'etre_." There was a sly smile on the other man's face, "In the Warden Clans we understand that being a Warrior is about more than known how to kill. Like the Spartans of ancient Terra, we are expected to know history and art, music and yes, even philosophy. For it is in knowing what you fight for that you understand why you must fight with every fibre of our being. If you want a mindless killing machine, go talk to a Jade Falcon: I am sure that they would not disappoint you."

**To Be Continued...**


	23. Staring Down The Bullet

**Slackers of the Inner Sphere  
****Chapter 23: ****Staring Down The Bullet**

_Chichester  
__Northhold  
__Shoreham  
__Federated Commonwealth  
__29__th __September 3064_

The _Kraken_ slipped into port under cover of the pre-dawn twilight, the storm that had harried the ships crossing still visible on the distant horizon. The harbour itself wasn't much to look at: a large stone sea-wall protecting a sizeable area of flat land at the bottom of a deep valley cut into imposing cliffs half a kilometre high that stretched as far as the eye could see in both directions. Just visible above the cliff edge was the geodesic dome that housed the city itself, accessible by a funicular railway. Everything was covered in a fresh layer of snow, a reminder that they were much closer to the Arctic circle than they had been in Lancing.

Swindelli and Kerensky grabbed their kit-bags and started to walk to the station, all too aware of the number of eyes watching them.

"Do you ever get the feeling that nobody likes us?" Swindelli asked.

"We are different." Kerensky just shrugged, "And people are always afraid of that which is different."

The two of them walked on, snow crunching under foot as they passed dozens of empty docks, the towering crane's that would normally be loading ore and other raw materials onto massive cargo ships bound of the foundries and factories of the southern continents stood idle against the grey sky. Again they saw man and woman in in militia uniforms, patrolling the warehouses and storage yards, weapons always at the ready. They managed to miss the next train headed up the valley to the city itself, and decided to wait rather than attempt the long, dangerous walk up the track that ran alongside the track.

Swindelli examined the handful of vending machines that stood against one wall of the station; days existing on the rather basic rations the _Kraken's_ crew had served up had left him with a desperate need for something, anything, that didn't taste like old boots. Picking the most sugar-laden candy bar and caffeine rich soft drink he could find, he lipped his M.R.B.C. card into the payment slot; he had instructed Kobayashi to place the equivalent of over a hundred thousand C-Bills into the account linked to the card in case they needed it, but they hadn't needed it, so far. The machine bleeped and ejected the ID, a red light flashing.

"What in the name of Wild-Bill Hickok?" Swindelli took the card and looked at it, making sure that there was no dirt or scratches on the chip that held all the date, before reinserting it. Again the machine spat it back out. He turned to face his companion, "Let me borrow your card for a second: some thing's up with..."

He never had a chance to finish the sentence: the perspex front of the vending machine shattered where a bullet meant for the Mercenaries head hit, showing the entire room with thousands of tiny shards. Instincts kicked in, propelling Swindelli to the ground even as the sound of the rifle-shot reached them. Kerensky reacted just as fast, dropping to the floor behind a low row of seats as he drew the .75 recoilless Hanzo had given him. The gun felt new, different, but very deadly as he thumbed off the safety catch. His keen eyes scanned the the hillside and caught the tell-tail glint of sunlight reflecting off of a telescopic sight.

"I guess we will see just how recoilless these guns really are." He mused as he took careful aim and pulled the trigger.

There was only a tiny kick, almost as much as would have been expected from an air-rifle, but the roar was almost deafening in the confines of the small room. The heavy bullet smashed the sheet glass window, unlike the snipers shot that had only left a small hole. The bullet continued without even slowing down, crossing the area of open ground outside the station in the blink of an eye, hitting a small tree which promptly exploded into a million matchsticks. A second shot a split-second later blow a chunk the size of a man's head out of the boulder the sniper was hiding behind.

"Where have these been all my life?" Swindelli asked as he drew his own weapon and took aim.

Both men fired their guns empty, the noise almost painful but they ignored it as they attempted to kill their unknown assailant. There was no sign that they had hit anything other than the hill-side, but there were no return shorts. With the echo of gunfire fading, both men became aware of the sirens going off around them, and the heavy thump of combat boots on concert. A full squad of Militia troops burst into the station, weapons at the ready. Swindelli slowly moved his hand round so he could raise his arms without it looking like he was about to shoot, Kerensky following his example as more solders stormed in from every entrance, barking often contradictory orders.

"WEAPONS HOLD!" A tall man in an officers uniform came though the main entrance like a guided-missile on terminal lock, "Someone had better start explaining what happened here before I start loosing my temper."

"Someone took a shot at my commanding officer." Kerensky shrugged, "We fired back."

"What my esteemed college here is trying to say is that we were just defending ourselves." Swindelli added as a Militia corporal grabbed his gun a way and handcuffed him, "Hey, watch it will you: that's a real silk shirt under there!"

The solders reply came in the form of a riffle-butt to the back of the head, and Swindelli's world went dark.

**

* * *

**

_The Blasted Redoubt  
__Northhold  
__Shoreham  
__Federated Commonwealth  
__30__th __September 3064_

Swindelli woke with a groan, his head still throbbing. He opened his eyes slowly, letting the dimly lit room swim slowly into focus: the walls were painted a drab olive green that did little to hide the fact that they were made of sheet-metal. He looked round, finding his cloths folded neatly over the back of a nearby chair, he got dressed as fast as he could without his head spinning. The sound of hushed vices from the other side of the only door managed to get through the fog sounding his brain, and he slowly edged towards the door, trying to make out the actual words.

"You may come in now, Major." A strange voice called out, "I assure you that you have nothing to fear."

Pressing himself against the door frame, Swindelli pushed the door open and got his first look at the other room. It was decorated much like any other military quarters in the Inner Sphere; almost painfully Spartan with a few basic attempts to make it more comfortable, like the two low couches and the simple coffee table. A tea-pot and several cups sat one the table, in fount of a woman dressed in the uniform of a CMM Colonel. Swindelli looked her over quickly; she looked to be in her early forties, but had obviously kept her body in shape, and only a few grey hairs speckled her otherwise flame-red hair. He glances at the name tag stitched into her tunic, but it just read 'LaFollett'.

"Sir." Kerensky sat across the table from the woman, holding a tea-cup in his hand, "Things have, progressed somewhat. Not necessarily for the best I am afraid to say."

"Indeed, you're very lucky: under normal circumstances, you would have been arrested for illegal discharge of a firearm, disturbing the peace, destruction of public property and reckless endangerment, along with anything else the D.A. thought he could get away with pinning on the two of you." LaFollett smiled, "But you're lucky in that one of the guards recognised your guns: Hitomi has only ever made a handful of them, and they have always been gifts to friends, never for sale."

"I know her husband." Swindelli looked more than a little confused, "I'm sorry if I come across as a little rude here, but just who are you?"

"My apologies; I am Colonel Chloe LaFollett, Capellan March Militia." The woman explained, "I command the bulk of the Militia here on Shoreham, in the name of Duke Hasek, our rightful First Prince and House Davion."

"The not-so loyal opposition to Lord Fenner?" The Mercenary asked.

"It is a sad fact that the House of Fenner has fallen far from grace. The current Lords father was a MechWarrior in the Brigade of Guards. Unfortunately he was killed during the Clan Invasion back in 3050. his son has proven to be somewhat lacking in the sence of _Noblesse Oblige_ his father was known for." LaFollett seemed to take it almost personally, "He is Loyal to Katherine because her reforms grant him more power, even at the expense of basic freedoms that I, as an officer, have sworn to uphold."

"With all due respect, Colonel, Civil Wars are never civil." Swindelli shook his head, "And I have no intention of getting my people mixed up in one if it can be avoided. We have a job to do, and once we're done, we'll be on our way."

"Yes, you're looking for the Capellan Mercenary." LaFollett nodded, "And there you are in luck: there were only two survivors, one of whom was Mr Sharpe. We've been holding him here until such time as we can hand him over to the ComStar or some other appropriate agency."

"How about you handed them over to us, and we spare you the trouble?" Swindelli asked hopefully.

"Again, under normal circumstances I would say yes, and good riddance to them both, but you are no longer an appropriate agency, legally seeking anyway." LaFollett handed over a sheet of paper headed with the MercNet logo, "It appears that The Word of Blake has issued a warrant for your arrest and lodged a formal complaint with the Mercenary Review and Bonding Commission on Outreach. There are few somewhat vague charges; mainly it seems that they are a little upset that you so quickly and effortlessly overran one of out garrison bases, but they have also accused your unit of kidnapping one of their MechWarriors and illegal transporting her off-world. The M.R.B.C. has had no choice but to suspended your rating and freeze all associated accounts, at least for the duration of the investigation."

**To Be Continued...**


	24. Wanted: Dead or Alive

**Slackers of the Inner Sphere  
****Chapter 24: ****Wanted: Dead or Alive**

_JumpShip_ L. Ron Hubbard  
_Zenith Jump Point  
__Shoreham system  
__Federated Commonwealth  
__30__th__ September 3064_

"Sir, we're receiving a message from our agent on the planet." Hawksmoor came to attention, "Would you like me to print it out for you?"

"No; I'll do it myself." Jamal floated across the bridge to the nearest console, "What's the matter with this thing? What's all this churning and bubbling? You call that an HPG?"

"No Sir; we call it '_Mr Coffee_'." The Adapt pointed at the large sign above the machine, "Care for some?"

"YES!" The Precenter snapped defensively, grabbing the offered zero-G cup, "I always have coffee when I read an incoming message. You know that!"

"Of course I do." Hawksmoor came sharply to attention.

"_Everybody_ knows that!" Jamal looked around the room, daring the terrified crew to argue.

"**OF COURSE WE DO, **_**SIR!**_" They responded as one.

"Now I have my coffee, I'm ready to read the message." Jamal regained his composure, "Where is it?"

"Right here." Hawksmoor closed her eyes as she pointed to a machine labelled '_Mr HPG_'.

"Good." Jamal looked at the screen and a smile played across his face, "Our agent has been able to track the leader of the Mercenaries to the rebel headquarters. With any luck, he'll be able to dispose of him and make it look like that fool Fenner is behind it all." He took a sip of his coffee, than spat it out, gasping, "**HOT! TOO HOT!**"

**

* * *

_The Blasted Redoubt  
__Northhold  
__Shoreham  
__Federated Commonwealth  
__30__th__ September 3064_**

Swindelli sat impatiently in LaFollett's office, drumming a tuneless beat with his fingers as he looked at the clock on the wall, watching the minute's tick slowly by. His other hand kept creeping down to his now empty holster, as if his confiscated side-arm would be miraculously returned. Kerensky sat opposite, much more relaxed and reserved, his eyes closed in silent contemplation.

"Sorry about the wait." The Colonel breezed through the opens doors, a folder under her arm, "It took our Provost a while to work out just where you stand, legally: we should, technically, parole you over to ComStar until the case against you can be heard by the M.R.B.C. But given the fact that I can't send you to Lancing under armed guard and have you dropped off at the HPG station, we find ourselves in a rather difficult position."

"I don't suppose just letting us go is an option?" Swindelli asked, hopefully.

"Actually, yes." LaFollett smiled, "Right here and now, you're my problem, and I have enough of them as it is. But if I send you back to Lancing, you become Fenner's problem. I'm not saying that it will be any nicer for you, but it'll make my life a little easier."

"And Mr Sharpe?" Kerensky opened his eyes and looked up for the first time.

"Mr Sharpe and the only other surviving member of his unit will be handed over to your care." LaFollett nodded, riffling through the papers on her desk until she found the page she was looking for, "As your current contract was not recorded by the M.R.B.C., they have no jurisdiction over it: if your employer wishes to pay you the balance of your fee, then that is up to him. But I must warn you that if it is paid into your account on Outreach, it will be confiscated." She rubbed her forehead, "On an unrelated topic, we believe we may have discovered who shot at you: a bounty hunter known only as 'The Lizard'."

"Never heard of him." Swindelli shrugged, "Should I be insulted, impressed or worried?"

"The latter two, most definitely." The Colonel handed over a file, "Not much is known about him, at least, not much that they'd trust an out-of-the-way Militia commander with. What is know seems to be mainly conjecture: no one knows his real name or where he's from. Some say he's former Loki, others DEST, or MI-6, or Maskirovka, or ROM, or even a Death Commando. What is known is that he's worked for and against each and every one of them over the past twenty years, and has never been court and has never failed to full fill a contract. I don't know who you pissed off, but they're willing to spend a hell of a lot of money to see you dead."

"Why does this shit always happen to me?" Swindelli asked, scanning the heavily censored file: it read read like a demons résumé, "Word of Blake. It has to be Word of Blake: aside from my ex-wife, they're the only ones I've pissed off enough to do something like this."

"You were married?" Kerensky sounded genuinely surprised, "You never told me this."

"We all have secrets, Dim." Swindelli closed the file and tossed it back onto the desk, "You of all people should know that."

"Touch me agyen, pal, an it'll be the last thing yee ever do!" A gruff voice came from the out office.

"Oh God; our chaplain's arrived." LaFollett rolled her eyes as two men in orange jumpsuits with 'P.O.W.' stencilled on the front were brought in by a pair of MPs armed with billy-clubs, "Major Swindelli, Captain Kerensky: may I introduce Lieutenant Ian Sharpe and Private Tyler Cain."

"Mr Sharpe, at long last." Swindelli stood, "Good news; you're going home."

"An just who the hell are yee?" The taller of the two men asked.

"Like she said, I'm Major Ricardo Swindelli." The mercenary's eyes narrowed, "Your father hired us to come find you and take you home. The Colonel has agreed to hand you over to us and provide transportation most of the way back to Lancing."

"Gan te hell." Sharpe spat at the other man's feet, "Ah want nothin frem tha bastard!"

"What you want is irrelevant." LaFollett snapped, "You are being paroled into the Majors custody and he will escort you off of my planet. What happens after that is none of my concern." She turned to Swindelli, "My men will see you as far as they can; the rest will be up to you."

"You have out thanks." Swindelli nodded in gratitude, "Have a fun war."

LaFollett waited until they were all gone and the door was once again closed before she picked up the phone on her desk, "Sheppard? Contact Major Nairn and tell him to get his people ready: the balloon's about to go up."

**

* * *

_Chichester  
__Northhold  
__Shoreham  
__Federated Commonwealth  
__1__st __October 3064_**

"What in the name of Calamity Jane?" Swindelli stood on the harbour wall, a look of utter disbelief on his face.

The craft before him looked like a cross between a commercial airliner and a boat, with short, stubby wings and eight massive jet engines in two rows of four just behind the nose. The tail was higher up and much wider than he would have expected for a normal flying boat, with what had to be radar and sonar domes lines up the leading edge. Three rows of turret mounted twin missile racks ran along its back, giving it a slightly ungainly look, only added to by the garishly bright yellow duck painted on the nose.

"In all my years, I have never seen anything like it." Kerensky looked equally dumbfounded.

"She's a _Lun_-class ekranoplan: a wing-in-ground effect vehicle." A young man, no older than twenty-one standard years and dressed in a Militia uniform appeared at the top of the ladder leading down to the pontoon docks, "What you're looking at it 400-tons of ocean going death and destruction." He offered his hand, "Midshipman Vax Holser, Capellan March Militia Maritime Security Patrol: I'll be the one taking you over to the mainland."

"In that?" Swindelli felled his seasickness returning, "Is it safe?"

"Listen here, _The Duck_ is one of the safest ways to get around this planet these days." Holser seemed personally insulted, "She'll do almost 300-knots, and has a range of almost 2,000-km. Fenner's goons have nothing that can touch her."

"If it is indeed as fast as you claim, why were we forced to travel here by _Monitor_?" Kerensky asked, "Surely this would have been quicker and safer?"

"Quicker yes. Safer, no." The Midshipman shook his head, "The only down side to an ekranoplan is that they don't like bad weather: we had to wait until the sea calmed down before we could run here again. As it is, we have a two day window of opportunity to run her before the next storm front moves in, and we have to migrate south for the winter."

"Whatever." Swindelli gave up, "I just want to get off this crazy planet as soon as possible."

"Very good, sir." Holser tone of voice dripped with sarcasm, but he turned sharply to his craft, "Mr Boss. Prepare to cast off!"

**To Be Continued...**

_Yes, I am a Bon Jovi fan.  
__As for the lines from Spaceballs: if you're going to steal, steal from the best.  
__And the Lun-class ekranoplan was a real-life creation of the Soviet Navy._


	25. Running The Gauntlet

**Slackers of the Inner Sphere  
****Chapter 25: ****Running The Gauntlet**

_Ekranoplan_ Sea Duck  
_Sea of Storms  
__Shoreham  
__Federated Commonwealth  
__1__st __October 3064_

"Now this is how we should have done this the first time." Swindelli looked out of the thick window as the waves passed by just a few meters below, "Why couldn't we have used this the first time, instead of the rusty old tin-can they had us on?"

"Weather was too bad for us to make a run." Holser made his way down from the command cabin, "Normal, job like this, we'd cruise along up somewhere around 7,000 meters, making maybe 500 km/h. But if we were to try that today, Fenner would send is Aerospace fighters after us, and we're not equipped fort hat kind of fight. No, we stay down here, then any search radar they have won't be able to pick us out from among the waves. Bad news is, we'd be lucky to make 100 km/h at this hight. Still, another hour or so and we should make landfall."

"Well, at least I'm not sea-sick." Swindelli shifted about in his seat, trying to get comfortable.

"Couldn't help but notice that gun you've got there." Holser stood at the hot plat at the back of the cabin, pouring coffee into two of the odd, conical shaped mugs the crew used, "A Hanzo original, right? Must have cost you a pretty penny."

"It was a gift." The MechWarrior pulled out his mirrored sunglasses and put them on, providing some shade from the bright sunlight that streamed in through the window, "I know her husband."

"Hanzo's married?" the Militia officer shock his head in disbelief, "Lucky bastard! Hitomi Hanzo is, or rather was,Shoreham's most eligible bachelorette, all things considered."

"Hey, I know she's attractive and all, but I wouldn't go that far." Swindelli snorted.

"You really don't know, do you?" Holser laughed as he made his way back up the cabin, "The Hanzo family have been gunsmiths and weapons designers for generations, but they've always invested; mainly land and the armaments companies they do work for. As the only surviving member of the family, Hitomi Hanzo is probably among the ten richest woman on the planet." He shrugged as he made his way back into the cockpit, "That said, word is Fenner's already signed her death warrant: she'll be lucky to last another year, even if she stays in Whitehawk."

Swindelli sat still for a moment, his mind running over everything he'd just been told. Neither Baker or Hanzo had, at no point, given any clue that they had money. While it was true that with a Civil War on, with much of her home planet under the control of the opposition, Hanzo was hardly in a position to access most if not all of her wealth. But the shop she operated had been small and in a less than desirable part of town. The concept that it was all some joke Holser was playing on him in retaliation for the way he had dismissed the Ekranoplan when he had first seen it. He was about to ask Kerensky his opinion when the cabin shock violently, and an alarm sounded. Hitting the quick release on his safety harness, he tried to get to his feet, but the Ekranoplan banked sharply to one side, throwing him against the bulkhead hard enough to momentarily stun him.

"_Strap yourselves in and hold tight._" Holser's tense voice sounded over the PA, "_We've got_ Razor Hawks _inbound!_"

"What in the name of Buffalo Bill is a _Razor Hawk_?" Swindelli asked the universe in general.

"I would hazard a guess that they are." Kerensky leaned over the gangway separating their seats and pointed out the window: a quartet of sleek, deadly looking craft were sweeping in at wave-top hight, all shape angles and deadly intent. One of them let fly a pair of missiles that arced up then down, homing in on the much bigger _Sea Duck_.

A pair of heavy machine-guns opened up from somewhere behind the passenger cabin, tracer rounds walking across the path of one missile, swatting it out of the sky. But the second evaded the defensive fire and impacted on the hull just above the port wing. The entire craft shuddered violently as sheets of ablative amour shattered and fell away, protecting those inside but leaving a potentially deadly chink in the big Ekranoplan's armour. The dull roar of the transports engines rose to near a deafening level as it lurched forward and up, gaining a few meters extra hight as the added acceleration pushed everyone back in their seats.

Light autocannon rounds impacted along the length of the craft as Holser dipped the port wing as far as he dared, putting the _Sea Duck_ into a wide turn, giving the crew members manning the dorsal missile launchers a better shot. Fire enveloped the windows as their opened up, spewing forth a wall of screaming death into the middle of the _Razor Hawks'_. The nimble attack craft scattered, affording Swindelli his first good look: their short, gull-like wings sent up high arcs of sea-spray as they skirted along the top of the water, while their blunt noses housed a chain fed autocannon. A single turboprop engine powered a large, multi bladed propeller. The shock of the first volley overcome, they split up and fell upon the much bigger _Lun_ like a pack of wolves working together to take down a bear. One would deliberately move to try and draw fire while the others waited for their moment to pounce.

Gripping the back of the seat in front tightly, Swindelli managed to pull himself to his feat and carefully made his way forward to the cockpit: Holser and a man in a Petty Officers uniform were struggling with the controls, trying to shake off their attackers while avoiding a deadly collision with the sea just meters below their feet.

"I thought I told you to strap in and hold tight?" The Midshipman snarled, then activated the intercom, "Mr Tamarov, six o'clock low, moving fast: take the bastard out of my sky!"

"What the hell is going on?" Swindelli shouted as he pulled himself over to a jump-seat and fumbled with the five point harness.

"We control most of the coast, put open water is still hotly contested." Holser explained as he wrestled with the controls, his fingers flying across the dials and gages almost too fast to follow, "While we still have most of the Militia naval units, Fenner's people managed to grab some of the lighter units, like these blasted _Razor Hawks'_." He looked out the window at the fast approaching coastline, "Mr Boss, how far are we from Coogan's Bluff?"

"About twenty kilometres south." The Petty Officer replied, then looked round, a worried expression on his scared face, "No, it can't be done; not in a ship this size!"

"Only chance we have: we get to the other end, and they'll have to brake off or face the defences." Holser brought the big Ekranoplan's nose round to the north and pulled the throttle back until it came up against the thin wire that normally restricted engine output. A little more pressure snapped the wire, pushing all eight engines to their absolute limit: for a craft so big and seemingly unwieldy, the _Sea Duck_ found some extra engine power from somewhere and rocketed ahead at less than ten meters, shaking so hard Swindelli was sure it was going to fall apart.

"Okay people, buckle up; we're about to make a run through the Bluff." Holser warned over the PA as a narrow gap in the cliff face appeared directly ahead.

Swindelli closed his eyes and offered a silent pray to any saints who happened to be listening as they passed through the opening into the narrow canyon beyond. The Ekranoplan jerked from side to side as Holser pulled the controls from side to side with all his might, navigating by memory as they threaded the only safe path through the towering walls of rock. Swindelli knew that the slightest mistake would spell a fiery death for them all, but somehow the adrenalin pumping through his veins made it seem all somehow surreal, as if it was happening to someone else. Time seemed to slow down, and he was able to see individual trees that had found some crag in which to take root. The illustration only lasted for a few seconds, but it felt like a life time.

Then the Ekranoplan levelled out, two of the _Razor Hawks'_ still on their tail; one pilot had chickened out, while another had ploughed head first into a cliff face, leaving a nasty, burning patch as the only sigh of its passing. Swindelli looked forward to see a raging water fall dead ahead, a ragged outcropping of rock jutting out in the middle, protecting the entrance to a dark cave beyond

"_BALLS TO THE WALLS TIME, BOYS!_" Holser called out as he aimed for the narrow opening, coaxing every last drop of power out of the already over taxed engines. The entrance to the cave passed by in a blur of cascading water, the _Sea Duck_ passing through with less than a meter to spare on either wing-tip, even less above the tail. Powerful lights came to life in the crafts nose, illuminating a maze of stone columns stretching from wall to wall.

"You are beyond insane!" Swindelli protested as both pilots struggled to turn the Ekranoplan up almost on wing-tip, threading their way between two massive columns and into a second cave beyond. This one was thankfully larger and relatively free of obstructions.

"You ain't seen nothing yet." Holser laughed maniacally as he pulled back on the control stick, "_DRESS REHEARSAL FOR HELL!_"

A fist grabbed Swindelli and pushed him back into the hard jump-seat as the _Sea Duck_ struggled for hight, only just making the entrance of another, diagonal cave, the bottom of which was a raving maelstrom of white water. The crafts accumulated speed started to bleed off as it clawed its way up the up the sprat filled shaft, reaching far the distant sunlight filled opening.

Finally, with alarms screaming out a warning of immanent stall, the _Sea Duck_ exited the cave like a cork shooting out of a champaign bottle, lading on the clear, calm waters of the open river beyond. One of the _Razor Hawks'_ survived to follow them out, and was irremediably targeted by a dozen fixed weapons emplacements. Fire-power intended to fed of attacking DropShips ripped through its fragile hull, turning it into a ball of flame.

"Well, that was bracing." Holser smiled as he started to taxi towards a dock just up the river at the edge of a small town, "Welcome to Coogan's Bluff, Major."

**To Be Continued...**

_I've been reading the _Crimson Skies_ anthology, and I think it shows..._


	26. Swindelli's Big Score

**Slackers of the Inner Sphere  
****Chapter 26: ****Swindelli's Big Score**

_Coogan's Bluff  
__Shoreham  
__Federated Commonwealth  
__2__nd__ October 3064_

"I want off of this god-damn planet." Swindelli made his way along the dockside, absent-mindedly kicking an old can as he went, "I've always known that Davion's are a little crazy, but this place is just one big mad-house and the lunatic have taken over the asylum."

"It is an unusual planet, I have to agree." Kerensky shrugged, unsure how to respond, "But we need to get to the space port, and that it 2,000 km away, across the front lines."

"Yeah, that's a real help, isn't it?" Swindelli snapped, "Why the hell they couldn't take us back to Lancing I don't know. They got us out of there, didn't they?"

"They might argue that they are in the middle of a most uncivil Civil War." Kerensky thought for a moment, "I have always found that phrase interesting: _Civil War_. After all, they are never truly civil. In fact, some of the worst crimes in human history have been committed by those claiming to be fighting for the people they are committing said atrocities against."

"A wise man once some it up best when he said 'There is no such thing as an_ inhuman act_, for there is no act so vile that one cannot find a human willing, or even eager, to commit it.'" The Major commented after a moments contemplation, "Makes you wonder if this is exactly the sort of situation he was thinking about at the time."

"I think I am beginning to understand why you want off of this planet." Kerensky nodded grimly, "But as we can no longer rely on the pro-Victor forces to provide us with transportation, we will have to find our own way."

"And that's going to be expensive." Swindelli frowned, "How much cash do we have left?"

"In all, maybe a little over 10,000 C-Bills, a little over half of which is in Davion Pounds." Kerensky did the maths in his head, "We have ten times that on our cards, but we can not access that."

"Not enough to get us back to Lancing, but I have a cunning plan?" The Major smiled, "We need to find a bar. Not just any bar; we need the most disreputable looking dock-side tavern we can find."

"Like that?" Kerensky asked pointing at a low, slightly dilapidated building across the street. The paintwork looked cheep and was starting to peal in places, exposing the brickwork beneath, while all of the ground floor windows were glazed with thick, wire reinforced safety glass, tinted so you couldn't really see what was going on inside. A neon sign above the door proclaimed _'T E IGH T DE'_ in two meter high flashing letters, forcing the two MechWarriors to try and read the missing letters.

"That looks like the sort of place we need." Swindelli smiled and held out his hand, "Give me 10,000 then take the rest and our two charges and find somewhere quiet to wait for a few hours. The last thing I need is for it to look like I'm rolling with a crew; that is the last thing I want them to think."

"Do I even want to know?" Kerensky looked doubtful as he handed over the bulk of their monetary reserve, "Very well, I will try and find the post office; they should have a ComStar terminal where I can check for messages from Kobayashi or the others."

"It's unlikely; I left Penwald orders to move the _Bulldog_ out into a much higher orbit if they didn't hear from us for more than 48-hours." Swindelli shook his head, "Chances are they're half way back to the recharge station by now. Now if you're excuse me, I've got some work to do."

He crossed the street, watching the two heavies on the door of the bar out of the corner of his eye. At most places they would have been called Door Supervisions or at least Bouncers, but these two might have well worn matching jumpers with 'hired muscle' written across the front in permanent marker. The apparent senior of the two gave him a once over when it became clear that he intended to enter the establishment they were employed to guard. Swindelli could see from the way that their all too cheep suits bulged under the arms that they were carrying guns, but they both had the rough-and-ready look of experienced street fighters and bare-knuckle boxers.

"You want something, Pal?" He sneered with the tone of voice that was normally associated with having spilt someone's pint.

"A drink and maybe a game of cards." Swindelli kept his expression neutral, thankful that his better-cut suit hid his .75 Recoilless hidden without looking too flashy.

"What makes you think you'll find either of those here?" The other goon asked, cracking his knuckles.

"Let's just say I know my kind of bar when I see it." Swindelli allowed a faint smile, resting his hands in his pockets, "I'm lookin' for action. I'm a dead-stroke player going strong for the cheese. Won't fade with the nits or sharks. Got no time for hustles, show-boating or stalling. Now, is there anyone in this place has the guts to show me their speed or not?"

"You got balls, I'll give you that." The first bouncer snickered, then pulled out a wicked-sharp knife tossed it in the air a few times, "Cause any problems, and I'll cut them off and make you eat um!" He kicked open the door, the smoke filled air drifting out into the cool night breeze, "Game's in the back room, but you want in, you've got to convince the Boss that you're worth his time."

"I'll keep that in mind." Swindelli walked past them with as much style as he could muster, knowing that he had to walk the walk if he was going to talk the talk.

The public bar was nothing to write home about: the counter ran the length of one wall, the thin barman on duty leaning against the miraged back while talking to a couple of customers. He glanced up at Swindelli, but went back to his conversation when it became clear that he wasn't wanted in a professional sence. A thick curtain blocked off the back room, and a second pair of guards stood watch, faces as grim as death. One held out his hand without even saying a word, and Swindelli pulled the Recoilless out of its shoulder holster and handed it over grip-first, knowing that it was not the time or the place to start anything.

With just a nod, the guard pulled aside the curtain and ushered him into the room beyond. A single round table had been set up in the middle of the room, right below the only light and the slowly rotating fan that did nothing but mix the clouds of smoke coming up from the table. A tired looking waitress stood against one wall, filling her nails with a tray under the other arm in case anyone wanted another drink. But soon his vision was drawn to the apparent host, who seemed to have his own gravity well.

To say that the man was ugly would have been an understatement: it was hard to tell how tall he was because he was sitting behind the table in the seat normally reserved for the dealer, but excess rolls of fat draped over the arms. His eyes seemed small and beady, not helped by the few strands of greasy, thinning hair that were plastered to his brow by his excessive flop-sweat, even in the cool dark of the games room. His shirt may once have been colourful, but was so badly stained and creased it was hard to tell. He obviously hadn't shaved for a few days, and not very well when he had: every time he rubbed his fingers across his chin, something he seemed compelled to do at least once a minute, it made a rasping noise like sandpaper on wood.

"Help you, stranger?" He asked, his voice a thick drawl, as repugnant as he was, "A man better not come back here unless he knows what he's looking for."

"Got some time to kill, so I thought I might sit in on a game or two." The Mercenary sat at the only open seat, "Use to play a little _Lyran hold 'em_ back home. Feeling a little home sick, so... you know."

"That's nice, real nice. The names Joe, Joe Guendert: this is my place, so my rules, comprendi?" The man offered a massive hand that Swindelli felt compelled to shake, even though he felt dirty afterwards. "So, you think you can play Poker, huh? Well I' tell you what: to make you feel right at home, let's start with a little came of _Lyran hold 'em_. But first let me introduce you to the others: this is Dave 'Mouse Ear' Smith, Tom 'Bones' Malone, Donald 'Doc' Dunn and H.M. 'Howling Mad' Murdock." He leered at a young woman sitting as far away from him as physical possible without leaving the table, "And this bird of paradise is Miss Faye Valentine, who I am endeavouring to convince that the time has come to give up her wondering ways and come work for me here."

"Gentlemen." Swindelli nodded, than added with a smile, "Miss Valentine." He pulled out his stake money and placed half of it on the table, "Let's get down to brass tacks, shall we?"

**To Be Continued...**


	27. Making Your Own Luck

**Slackers of the Inner Sphere  
****Chapter 27:****Making Your Own Luck**

_The High Tide Tavern  
__Coogan's Bluff  
__Shoreham  
__Federated Commonwealth  
__2__nd__ October 3064_

Swindelli took a sip from his ice water while looking at his cards; he was sure the game was rigged, but there was always a way to work the system if you could find an opening. He was already down more than two thousand, with just a few C-Bills and a stack of Davion Pounds that he was nursing carefully. He'd already worked out that Smith, Malone and Dunn were working with Guendert, trying to fleece the other three players out of everything they had. Their technique was sloppy, almost insulting, and would have got them all beaten to a bloody pulp on any of the South-Western Worlds. People there expected a little more flair, a better show, when they were being conned. In fact, many a Grifter had been released unharmed and without charge, after all their ill-gotten gains had been returned to their rightful owner, of course.

He was reminded a what the legendary Canada Bill Jones, a life-long hero of his grandfather's, when he was informed that a Faro game he was playing in was crooked; "_Yeah, but it's the only game in town!_"

Still, as good as the four hustlers thought they were, Momma Swindelli hadn't raised no fool, and his Papa had made sure that he could swim with the sharks. Guendert's crew were probably use to rolling drunk sailors and anyone else who happened upon their game. They were good, but he was better, and it was time to show them just what happened when you played with the big boys. Looking at the pot, he knew the night had reached the part where the hustlers moved in for the kill, raising the stakes while feeding the others a carefully controlled mix of good but not great cards. It was an armatures ploy, and Swindelli was sure Valentine had seen through it by the way she folded at the start of the hand. But they were still playing _Lyran hold 'em_, so there was still a chance to take them and the pot.

"_The house always wins: play long enough, never change the stakes, the house takes you._" His grandfather's rasping voice filled his head, "_Unless, when that perfect hand comes along, you bet big, then you take the house._"

He had the cards he needed, but what he didn't have was enough money to make his move. He needed collateral, and he somehow doubted that the cheep watch his ex-wife had given them for their first and only anniversary was going to cut it. That left only one thing he could lay down. He only hoped that he didn't get his head blown off in the process.

"Gentleman, you seem to have me at a disadvantage." He smiled, making them think he was still just a small-time player way out of his depth, then reached into his jacket and pulled out his .75 Recoilless and placed it down on the table. "Any of you boys know what that is?"

"A hand-made Hanzo .75 Recoilless with fully customisable trigger settings and built-in laser sight." Murdock looked at the weapon almost absent-mindedly, flipping a gold coin between his fingers, "Not available over the counter; you have to convince Miss Hanzo to agree to sell you one."

"I've seen them in _Guns & Killing_, but never up close." Guendert was almost drooling as he looked at the weapon, then shook his head, "Has to be a fake; no way someone like you could get hold of one."

"Let's just say I'm a friend of the family." Swindelli allowed himself a sly smile, "It's the real thing; even has her personal stamp there on the butt." He pointed at the complicated pictogram, "And she strikes me as the kind of person who'd take, serious dislike, to anyone who tried to imitate her work."

"That gun is probably worth more than everything on the table..." Guendert's eyes were almost as wide his his stomach, almost.

"I am so glad we cleared that up so easily." Swindelli picked up the gun and placed it in the centre of the table, on top of the stack of money, than sat back with a grin on his face "I'm all in."

**

* * *

**

Kerensky sat at one of the public terminals and waited. It hadn't been hard to find the post office in such a small town; the building it took up one corner off also contain the Town Hall, the general store and the the Sheriffs office. Thankfully it was open late and had a direct link to the main ComStar transmitter in Lancing. While he didn't need the HPG itself, ComStar's carefully maintained neutrality meant that even Lord Fenner would not risk trying to interrupt their operations.

The fear of having a division of the ComGuard's finest dropping on your head asking why you'd cut off their phones had that effect on most planetary leaders.

Sharpe and Cain sat at a nearby table, talking quietly, but not so quietly that Kerensky's keen sence of hearing couldn't make out what they were saying. They were, as they often did, discussing the possibility of ditching Kerensky and Swindelli and making their own way back to Lancing. Kerensky smiled at the idea; two members of a Capellan based Mercenary unit trying to get back through pro-Victor territory after having failed in a mission to attack the Blasted Readout? They would be lucky to get out of town alive, let alone as far as the front lines.

The computer bleeped, indicating an incoming communication.

_**From:**__Ethan Kobayashi  
__**To:**__Dimitri Kerensky  
__**Subject:** Mission Status  
__**Message:  
**__Have sent priority message to M.R.B.C. regarding our status, but unlikely to hear back soon. W.o.B. have managed to force Captain Handy to break his contract with us by buying up loans on_ Vital Spark. _Attempted to do same with_ Bulldog, _but third __party got their first. Will attempt to ascertain their identity, but hard with M.R.B.C. looking over our shoulder._

_Will contact you again when I have more information._

_Ethan._

Thinking for a moment, Kerensky hit the reply button and started to type.

_**From: **__Dimitri Kerensky  
_**To:**_ Ethan Kobayashi  
__**Subject:** Re Mission Status  
__**Message:  
**__We have acquired the package, but M.R.B.C. have frozen our accounts, and we do not have the money needed to reach Lancing. Suggest you try and contact our former __comrade to see if he can expedite our transportation. Major __Swindelli is attempting to acquire more money, but I fear that he mat fail. Any help you can offer would be appreciated._

_Dimitri Kerensky_

* * *

The two goons on the door gave Swindelli an evil look as he left the tavern, still counting his winnings. The Mercenary was sure that if it wasn't for the watchful eyes of a nearby Militia patrol that he wouldn't have made it more than half a dozen paces at best. As it was he was walking down a dark and disreputable street holding over a hundred-thousand Davion Pounds, and maybe ten thousand of the more universally excepted C-Bill's. Folding them up and slipping them into the inner pocket of his jacket, he started off down the street.

"You cause quite a stir in there, Mr Swindelli." Valentine's soft and sultry voice came from just behind him as she slipped her hands into her pocket, "It's always fun to see a Player get played."

"Let's just say that their sloppy plays and rather easily spotted fake-tells offended me on both a personal and a professional level." Swindelli smiled, never averse to the company of an attractive woman, "They needed to be taken down a peg or two, and I was in the right place at the right time."

"Still, it's always nice to see a true artist at work." Valentine smiled seductively, "I hope you don't mind that I'm using you as an excuse to leave; if I had to spend another minute with that pig Guendert, I would have had to kill either him or myself."

"Well, I'm glad I could oblige." Swindelli looked round, noticing that his companion had managed to expertly manoeuvre him into an otherwise empty side-street, far away from any prying eyes.

He was trying to work out if this could be a good thing or a bad thing when Valentine's left hand came up, the skin ripping apart to expose what looked the the focusing apparatus of a hold-out laser. He just had time to dive out of the way before the weapon fired, the neat from a near miss singeing the hair on the back of his neck. Rolling behind a nearby dumpstir, he drew his recoilless and released the safety catch. Using a piece of broken glass as a mirror, he snuck a glance back round into the street. Valentine was still standing where she had been, but her body language was completely different: she was crouched down in a fighting stance, he face emotionless and eyes as hard as Mech armour. He took a more careful look at the hold-out laser; it seemed to be built into her arm, and for a moment he though that the entire limb had to be prosthetic, but then he saw the blood that was already starting to dry up and scab.

"If this is about the money you lost, all you had to do was ask." He did his best to sound jovial, "Guendert is the bad guy, not me..."

Valentine remained silent, but her left arm snapped round and the laser burned a neat hole straight through the middle of the glass, missing Swindelli's fingers by less than a centimetre. He dropped the shard, took a two handed grip on his pistol and dived out from the shadow of the dumpstir. A bright flash of laser light shot over his head as he opened fire, two rounds hitting her in the left shoulder. She staggered back under the force of the impact, but showed now outward sign of pain or discomfort. Given that the heavy rounds from the Recoilless should have blown clean through any body armour that Valentine could have conceivably been wearing under her rather revealing dress. As it was, one of the rounds seemed to have embedded itself in her shoulder.

"What the hell are you?" Swindelli asked, shocked.

"_What the hell are you?_" Valentine called back in a mocking tone, her jaw clenched in a macabre smile, "_What the hell are you?_"

She started to advance upon Swindelli, who fired again, this time the bullet ripping into his attackers left biceps, shredding away the skin to reveal a black mess of artificial muscle below. Valentine's other arm lashed out, hitting Swindelli with enough force to send him flying into the nearest wall, the Recoilless dropping from his hand. Grabbing a discarded length of metal pipping, Swindelli lashed out as hard as he could, catching Valentine in the side of the head. It was like hitting a brick wall; the force of the impact vibrating up the pipe and into his arm. He hit out again and again, sometime hitting soft flesh, but more often than not, hard, unyielding myomer.

Valentine plucked the pipe out of his hand and tossed it to one side, before grabbing him by the throat and lifting him up off of his feet.

"I've seen things you wouldn't believe. DropShip's on fire off the rings of Saturn. I've watched c-beams glitter in the dark near the Tannhäuser Gate. Now all your little moments will be lost, like tears in the rain." Valentine grinned like a maniac as she started to choke the very life out of him, "Time to die!"

Something hit the side of Valentine's head with a dull, wet smack and her brains exploded out the other side in a grey and red mist. Her hand remained locked in place, but without the guidance of its owners mind, Swindelli was able to brake free and drop to the ground as the now very dead Faye Valentine slowly fell over backwards, her arm still reaching up, clutching at the sky.

"Lady, I have no idea who you are or what you want," Swindelli looked down at her body as the sound of police sirens filled the air, "but the last time a woman tried that hard to kill me, it was my ex-wife!"

**To Be Continued...**

_The Slackers of the Inner Sphere:  
__A carefully place half-brick in the path of the bicycle of destiny._


	28. The Great Game

**Slackers of the Inner Sphere  
****Chapter 28: ****The Great Game**

_Coogan's Bluff  
__Shoreham  
__Federated Commonwealth  
__4__th __October 3064_

Swindelli sat looking up at the celling of his cell, mentally correcting the spelling mistakes in the graffiti that had been etched into the concrete. It wasn't long before he jet again found himself thinking back to the last time he'd been in a jail cell. It had been two days after his twenty-first birthday, just before he'd been forced to leave Cerillos and his family behind. He could still remember the look of utter disappointment on his fathers face when he had come to post bail for his eldest son.

It was during the drive back to the family ranch that they had had The Talk, although it had been the elder Swindelli who'd done all the talking, explaining that after what had happened, it wasn't safe for his son to remain anywhere even remotely near his home town, or maybe even on the world his ancestors had called their own since they had arrived from Terra hundreds of years before. Swindelli had found his bags already packed for him when he got home, with the house surprisingly empty. He had asked his father where his mother, brothers and sisters were, but the Old Man had simply said that it was better all round if they avoided a long, drawn out good bye.

Taking his bags and never looking back, Swindelli had driven his beat up old car for two days until he reached Cerillos City. He'd sold the junker, netting just enough cash to put a roof over his head for a few days while he tried to get his act together. But he was just one of hundreds of youngsters come into the big city from the outlying regions looking for a new start, and there hadn't been any jobs for the taking. Effectively destitute when his money ran out, he finally came across a recruiting centre. It had been closed for a long weekend, so he'd slept in the doorway, without food, until it opened.

He wasn't sure what he'd expected when he'd sat down in front of the Staff Sergeant, mumbling his way through the interview. The old NCO had seen through his lies easily enough, but a check proved that no serious charges had ever been pressed, and Swindelli passed the medical and physic exams and was duly recruited into the Free Worlds league military.

The sound of jangling keys brought his back to reality with a bump, and he looked up to see a young man in his late twenties or early thirties, dressed in civilian cloths but with a golden badge hanging from his belt, examining him through he bars.

"Major Swindelli, I presume?" The man asked, "I'm Detective Green; I was assigned to investigate what happened with you." He pressed his thumb against the reader next to the cell door, and it swung open, "There's something I want your opinion on."

With nothing to loose, Swindelli followed the cop out of the small cell-block and down a flight of stairs into what seemed to be a combination morgue and coroners office. Two further officers in full riot gear stood guard outside the examination room, each holding an oversized combat shotgun like they were expecting trouble. The clinical stench of bleach and preservatives assaulted Swindelli's nose as Green opened the door and ushered him through. The chill in the room hit Swindelli with a near physical force, but it didn't seem to affect the elderly looking man in a white lab-coat who stood leaning against an examination table, a white sheet covering a body.

"Dr Lowe here is our chief forensic pathologist and a veteran of the Clan War." Green explained, "But even he's never seen anything like this. Doc?"

Lowe pulled back the sheet to reveal Valentine's naked body. Most of right side of her head was missing, but her angelic face was strangle untouched. Several incisions had been made on her body, and Swindelli could see the glint of metal and other unnatural additions to her physiology.

"I have never, in all my years, seen anything like this." Lowe shook his head as he pulled a laser pointer out of his coat pocket and switched it on, "I've read about some of these implants, but normally in the experimental or hypothetical sections of medical journals. Part of her skeleton has been coated in some kind of ceramic compound with amazing tensile strength, while protein complex has been injected intramuscularly, increasing tissue density and probably decreasing lactate recovery time, meaning that she wouldn't have grown tired as quickly as you or I. Also evidence that her they attempted to increase the blood flow to her eyes, probably in an attempt to increase her night vision. I also found the working of a hold-out laser in her forearm, the firing control linked directly into her nervous system."

"And that's not the strangest part." Green stood with his arms folded across his chest, "In the past two days I've received multiple calls from both the ComStar HPG station in Lancing and from someone claiming to represent Word of Black, each wanting to claim this body. Now we're a small town; not use to dealing with this kind of goings on. Perhaps you can enlighten us."

"If there was anything I could tell you, I would." Swindelli tasted biol rising in the back of his throat, "I thought she was hitting on me until she started just hitting me. Hell, she took half a dozen rounds from my gun and shrugged them off like they were nothing."

"Any idea who killed her?" The Detective asked.

"Haven't a clue, but if I did, I'd buy them a drink; they saved my life." Swindelli admitted, "What did they use?"

"That's the other interesting part." Lowe held up a specimen jar; a deformed sphere of brushed metal rolled around in the bottom, "We pulled this out of a warehouse wall; chemical test showed no signs of explosive residue, but further tests show that it had been subject to strong magnetic fields."

"A gauss rifle?" Swindelli blinked, "I didn't know they make them that small?"

"Not according to anyone I've spoken to." Green shook his head, "No ones built a weapon like that since the time of the Star League. Oh, sure, maybe the Clans or ComStar might be able to, but why would they get involved?"

"That, Detective, is the 64,000 C-Bill question." Swindelli sucked in a breath through his teeth, "Look, as much fun as this has been, are you going to charge me or what? Because I've still got a job to do, and I'd really like to get off of this planet as soon as humanly possible."

"I've nothing to charge you with; all the evidence supports your story that you were attacked." Green shrugged, "Truth is, I'm getting pressure from above to close and sweep it under the rug. I don't care about the Civil War, just how it affects the people in this town. And if having you and your friends around makes life around here that little more difficult, then I want you gone."

**

* * *

_JumpShip_ L. Ron Hubbard  
_Zenith Jump Point  
__Shoreham system  
__Federated Commonwealth  
__4__th __October 3064_**

"I hate these Mercenaries." Jamal sat in his chair, staring into the darkness of space on the other side of the view port, "I should never have let them get this far; I should have crushed them as soon as we first caught up with them."

"With all due respect, sir, that wouldn't have been possible without drawing untoward attention from Terra." Hawksmoor stood near the observation lounge hatch, "As it is, out agents last report seems to indicate that someone else within our organisation has begun to take an interest."

"The Manei Domini, you mean?" The Precenter cocked his head to one side, "Yes, that was unexpected, wasn't it? Do we have any information as to who was behind that?"

"None at this time, but what we do know indicates that the unit was already in place on Shoreham before the arrival of the Mercenaries." Hawksmoor pulled a small computer uplink from her tunic pocket and opened the relevant file, "I have our people looking into it, trying to decipher who activated it."

"I've never trusted Manei Domini, especially the girls." Jamal pulled his knees up to his chest and put his arms around them protectively, "Girls have soft bits. Manei Domini shouldn't have soft bits. They should have hard bits; muscles and stuff. I have hard bits."

"Yes, sir." Hawksmoor rolled her eyes, realising it was going to be one of those days, when most of her time was spent taking care of her superior.

"I do; lots of them." Jamal started to cry, "I think I'm having a nervous breakdown."

"Yes sir." Hawksmoor pulled a syringe out of her pocket and started to advance on her boss, "This'll make you feel better, sir."

**

* * *

_Coogan's Bluff  
__Shoreham  
__Federated Commonwealth  
__4__th __October 3064_**

Kerensky was waiting outside of the police station when Swindelli was released, and fell in step beside his CO as they made their way down Main Street.

"Anything I need to know?" The Major asked.

"Word of Blake have bought out a stake in the _Vital Spark_, forcing Captain Handy to break off his contact with us." Kerensky explained, "They tried the same with the _Bulldog_, but someone beat them to it. We do not know at this time who that was, but Kobayashi suspects our employers."

"Not their style." Swindelli shook his head as they stopped outside a coffee shop, "No, something else is going on here; I was attacked by a Manei Domini, a Blakist cyborg. I know that they're after us, but this is a major escalation in their methods."

"Then who hired this bounty hunter, this Lizard, Colonel LaFollett warned us of?"

"If they even exist, and they're not just something LaFollett made up, then that could still be Fenner." Swindelli held open the door and ushered Kerensky inside, "No, there's more than one person or group of people out to get us, and I have a bad feeling that things are going to get worse before they get better."

**

* * *

_Unknown Location  
__4__th __October 3064_**

"The situation is progressing as planned?"

"Almost; it is, after all, hard to predict just how people will react, but within the guidelines of our plan."

"You have identified all the new players?"

"The information is all in the report. It should make, interesting reading."

"Very good, but try and remember that this is not a game; if anyone outside of our organisation was ever to learn the truth..."

"We're fully insulated; I have implemented more than double the usual number of cut-outs, implicating the usual suspects and a few red herrings to confuse any investigations."

"The others are still worried that you are treating this all too lightly. Too much is at stake to risk so much without taking proper precautions."

"If they are so worried, then I invite the council to examine my records; I have have nothing to hide."

"Make sure you keep it that way; we are all of us, after all, expendable, even you and I."

**To Be Continued...**

_The Slackers of the Inner Sphere:  
__Saving the universe by blowing up large parts of it._


	29. Highway To Hell

_Seasons Greetings and a Happy New Year to all our readers._

**Slackers of the Inner Sphere  
****Chapter 29: ****Highway To Hell**

_Bleak River County  
__Shoreham  
__Federated Commonwealth  
__9__th __October 3064_

The car that Swindelli settled on looked like it had been around longer than he had, but it ran and had more than enough room for the four of them and all their gear. As promised, Detective Green had escorted them to the edge of his jurisdiction before waving them off along the seemingly endless duel-carriageway that drew a laser straight line across the landscape. They had been on the road two days before they even saw the distant mountains that they had to cross to reach Lancing City and the Eavesdown Space-Port where their shuttle sat waiting. In theory, it was a five day drive.

In theory.

Their first clue that things were not going to be as easy as they first thought was when they passed a road sign that listed the mountain pass they were headed for: someone had taken a can of blood-red spray-paint and crossed out its official name, replacing it with simply '_The Crucible_', along with a skull and crossbones followed by the warning '_Abandon all hope ye who enter here!_'

Swindelli ignored the warning, but was more than a little worried the next day when they were passed by a military convoy loaded with Pro-Victor troops headed for the front lines. The young men and women, most no more than teenagers, sat in open backed trucks, escorted by armoured cars and motorcycle outriders. It wasn't their youth or the way they held their rifles like they had only just been issued them that worried him; it was the fact that each and every one of them had the same thousand-meter stare that he had seen on the faces of veterans of the brutal civil war that had almost ripped the Free Worlds League apart when his father was young.

It took almost an hour for the column to pass them, with Swindelli loosing track of the number of trucks when he reached the high forties. There was also a hodgepodge of tanks and other AFV's, along with supply trucks, ambulances, engineering vehicles and towed artillery pieces. A flock of VTOL's kept watch overhead, shepherding their charge towards the front lines. Finally, the convoy disappeared into the gather darkness, leaving only the massive dust cloud it had kicked up in its wake.

"Dear God in heaven...." Swindelli swallowed as he pulled over to the side of the road and watched the last vehicle fade into the distance, "I knew the fighting down here was bad, but still!"

"They're no using BattleMech's." Sharpe explained from the back seat of the car, "The Militia got myest of theirs ower te Northhold when fowk started te trade more than insults, an the few they left fought a rear-guard action against Lord Fenner's forces. Ended up wiping each other oot "

"That is why he hired your unit?" Kerensky asked.

"Ah divvent think Fenner understands the war the Militia are fighting on this God-forsaken rock " The other mercenary explained, "They knaa tha they canna win a stand-up fight against Fenner: he can caal on massive re-enforcements frem off-world if he has te. But tha waad myek him loose face, so as long as the Militia keep frem bein seen as tee much of a treat, an ne-one at High Command takes note of what's happening heor, then the statuesque is maintained."

"Sounds about right for this messed-up excuse for a planet." Swindelli nodded, "Still, that's a bloody lot of troops!"

"You're still not getting it, Major." Sharpe smiled, "This planet has a population of close te, what, one, one-and-a-half billion? That's more than lived on Terra before the second global war, an they were able te field armies in the millions! True, when Ah forst got heor, Ah nivvor waad hev thowt tha regular infantry wez tha important on a modern battlefield, aside frem base defence or clearing buildings an the leik. But the Militia were smart enough te realise tha they had hundreds of millions of fowk in thor area of control, as well as factories tha could easily be converted te produce smaal arms an ammunition. Myest of his Lordship's so-called 'special security teams' are paramilitary polliss at best, hired thugs at worst. "

"So we all take a step back in time." realisation dawn upon Swindelli, "All sector command are going to worry about are clashes between Mech's or armour units: but neither Fenner or LaFollett have enough of either to win a decisive victory. So instead they just throw massive waves of infantry against each other."

"And we are headed for the front lines." Kerensky sounded unusually glum, "We need to find another rout."

"Agreed." Swindelli grabbed the map from behind the sun-visor and spread it out over the dashboard, muttering under his breath, "I'll never get use to these right-hand drive cars..."

As he sat studding the map, a pair of large black cars came into view in the rear-view mirror. They slowed as they reached the battered old station-wagon that Swindelli had bought cheep, one stopping behind them, the other pulling up in front. Kerensky looked up, and started to reach for his gun when he saw four men and a woman dressed in Blakist robes climb out of the lead car and walk towards them.

"What is it?" Swindelli asked, then looked round, "Oh hell's balls!" He opened the drivers side door and gestured for Kerensky to follow.

"Major Swindelli?" The apparently senior member of the delegation asked, "Major Ricardo Tiberius Swindelli?"

"You're looking at him." Swindelli let his jacket fall open, allowing the Blakist's to see his holstered .75 Recoilless.

"Greetings and salutations; I am Demi-Precenter Lazarus Jamal of the Blessed Word of Blake." The man had a smile like a the near-gator's that roamed the waterways of Cerillos, "I must say that it has taken my companions and I a very, very long time to track you down; you have led us on quite the merry chase."

"Look, if this is about what happened with that Manei Domini back in Coogan's Bluff, I have no idea why the crazy bitch attacked me." Swindelli shrugged, "And if you're handing out copies of _The Watchtower_ or _Battlefield Earth_, then in all fairness I should let you know that I'm very happy as a Reformed Baptist."

"My dear Major, you truly have no idea what sort of trouble you're in, or what will happen to you when you're finally brought to justice." The Demi-Precenter laughed as his followers drew their weapons, covering both of the Mercenaries and their companions still seated in the car, "You might as well save yourself the pain and blow your own brains out right here and now."

"You're forgetting something; I'm a pimp," Swindelli grinned as he drew his Recoilless and pointed it at Jamal's head, "and pimps _don't_ commit suicide."

"How dare you! Demi-Precenter Jamal is a god compared to you; a true disciple of The Blessed Blake!" One of the apparently more fanatical Adapts snarled as he leapt forward, almost foaming at the mouth, "You are nothing compared to him, a shadow of a man, a shell without the inner light that comes from embracing the teaching of Blake! Only true believers, strong in the faith, shall be saved come the day of reckoning..."

Swindelli contemplated the man's continued insane rant for a moment, then brought his gun round and fired. The first round caught the stranger in the right shoulder, the heavy bullet effectively removing the arm, leaving it hanging on by a few tendons. A second shot turned the man's right lung and liver into so much minced meat. A third and final shot removed the lower right quarter of the man's head, sending a cloud of blood, brain matter and bone fragments spraying out over Jamal, Hawksmoor and the others.

"Anyone else want to debate religion?" Swindelli asked somewhat mockingly, his eyes scanning the silent and surprised crowed before him. Kerensky used the confusion to draw and ready his own gun, keeping the open car door between himself and the Blakist's.

"We will add Adapt Samael's murder to your list of crimes." Jamal spat after regaining his composure, brushing a piece of skull off of his shoulder, smiling as a large number of heavily armed troops spilled out of the cars and surrounded Swindelli and Kerensky. "It's good to know that some things remain the same, no matter where you are, and that when it comes to bounty hunters, if you want the best, you'd better be prepared to pay for it." He smiled turned into a sneer, "Any last words?"

"Happy?" Swindelli looked at the lead bounty hunter in utter amazement, "Is that you?"

"Rick?" The other man looked back with an equal sence of disbelief, "What in the hell are you doing here?"

"Well, going by what just happened, I guessing you're here to kill me." Swindelli shrugged, "Normally I'd prefer it if you just arrested me, but considering who you're working for, I'll take a bullet to the head if it's all the same to you."

"You're shitting me!"

"Straight up!"

"This is the guy?" Happy lowered his gun and turned to face Jamal, "This is the guy you hired me to track down? Do you have any idea who this is?"

"It would seem, a friend of yours..." The Demi-Precenter mumbled, a deep feeling of impending doom welling up inside him.

"Friend? This is my mother's brother's sister-in-law's eldest, and that makes him family!" The bounty hunter explained, "And there is one rule that no one from Southwestern worlds would ever break, no matter what; you don't accept a contract on family!" he signalled his team to aim their weapons at the Blakists, then he turned to look at Swindelli, "Tell me, Rick; have these _assholes_ been giving you a hard time?"

"Well now." The mercenary turned to look at Jamal with an amused expression on his face, "What do _you_ think?"

**To Be Continued...**

_The Slackers of the Inner Sphere:  
__Feel The Love!_


	30. Riding The Whirlwind

**Slackers of the Inner Sphere  
****Chapter 30: ****Riding The Whirlwind**

_Bleak River County  
__Shoreham  
__Federated Commonwealth  
__11__th __October 3064_

The cloud of smoke and flame that hung over he mountain pass could be seen for miles around, and the crackly of artillery fire could be heard drifting across on the breeze that flowed down across the farmland. All plans to find another way through the mountains had been abandoned when Swindles bounty-hunter relative had warned them of others after them, with more than one contract being offered for their capture. All that was left was the slim chance that they could find a way through the front lines of the Civil War. Slowly, the flat expanse of farmland gave way to rolling foothills that the highway snaked between, heavy woodland narrowing their view of the world. It was late in the local autumn, and the trees were heavy with golden-brown leafs that rusted in the breeze.

Rounding a wide bend, Swindelli was forced to rabidly change down through the gears when he saw a checkpoint ahead: a pair of APC's were parked across the road, the heavy machinegun's on their roofs pointed towards oncoming traffic.

"Be cool." He told the other passengers, "No body starts anything unless I say so."

Bring the car to a halt what he considered the right distance from the roadblock, Swindle cut the engine and waited.

"_Place you hands on the steering wheel._" An amplified voice ordered, "_Make no sudden movements or we will open fire._"

A pair of troopers approached, one covering the car and its occupants with a combat shotgun while the other approached the open drivers side window.

"Major Swindelli?" The man asked, "Major Ricardo Swindelli?"

"Depends who's asking." The mercenary looked at the open barrel of the shotgun and nodded, "Yeah, I'm Ricardo Swindelli."

"You've been expected, sir." The Militiaman looked round to the APC and waved his hand, "Colonel Naylor wants to see you."

"And if we do not wish to see this Colonel of yours?" Kerensky asked.

"I doubt it was a request." Swindelli nodded his head towards the tress at the side of the road; several heavily camouflaged solders were standing with their weapons at the ready, "Best we play along."

**

* * *

A short drive up a dirt track, escorted by a pair of military ATV's had them at a concealed bunker below a small log cabin. A man in his late fifties to early sixties stood over a map table, computers and radios set up around him. The guards motioned for the four mercenaries to remain by the door, and their sergeant went over to the officer and said something to him in a hushed tone. The man looked over his shoulder and examined them with slate-grey eyes, a Lieutenant-Colonel's rank-insignia on his collar.**

"So, you're the Mercenaries Chloe's told me so much about?" Naylor turned back to studying his maps, "The ones who're trying to get back to Lancing?"

"So it would seem." Swindelli shrugged, unsure where he stood in the grand scheme of things.

"You want to get through the front lines, then I suggest you either grow wings or find away to make yourselves bulletproof." The Militia Colonel thumbed through a stack of reports, "We're bogged down with trench warfare the likes of which I haven't seen outside of a TriDee movie or a documentary on one of the history channels. My army's not built for this, but we're fighting hand-to-hand for a few square meters of mud while the MechWarriors sit tight over in the Blasted Readout and drink tea. I haven't even seen a teabag that hasn't been used a dozen times over since August."

"Yeah, this entire war seems to be one big Greek Tragedy." Swindelli scratched his head, "Look, I need to get over these here mountains, and I've got Word of Blake after me and mine with a furious anger the likes of which I haven't seen in a long time. Can you help us, or do we take our chances?"

"Well, Major, unless you wan to go about 2,000-km out of your way, I can see only one option." There was an odd smile on Naylor's face, "One of our units makes regular raids across the mountains, and tomorrow they're mounting an attack to try and recapture one of our artillery locations that Fenner's boys took from us yesterday. Ask nicely and they may be willing to give you a ride."

"What exactly do they ride?" Swindelli asked, a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, "Pack-mules?"

"Not exactly." Naylor winked, "Not exactly..."

**

* * *

_50km from The Crucible  
__Shoreham  
__Federated Commonwealth  
__12__th__ October 3064_**

A formation of thirty VTOL's sat in a forest glade, the combined wash from their rotors kicking up a dust storm as heavily armed shock troops ran out from the tree line and clambered arboured as a bugler sounded the charge. Swindelli could see the words '_First Air-Cavalry_' and '_Mulligan's Marauders_' painted on the side of the VTOL's, along with a unit insignia made up of crossed sabres.

"You my passengers?" A woman dressed in combats and a pair of aviator-glasses asked, "Captain Alice Mulligan, 1st Federated Air-Cavalry Regiment, at your service."

"You go into combat in these things?" Swindelli asked, looking at the rag-tag collection of gunships and converted civilian transports.

"Low and fast, like the Good Lord intended." Mulligan smiled as she lead the way over to a converted _Karnov_ transport that had been refitted as a command gunship, "Only way to keep below their air-defence radar is the hug the mountains as closely as we can. That low, they can't pick us out from amid the ground clutter. And the noise from the main battle hides our approach until its too late."

Swindelli and Kerensky looked at each other nut said nothing.

"How you feeling today, Jimmy?" Mulligan asked a man, only just out of his teens, who stood by the door, the strictly non-regulation T-shirt he wore under his flack-jacket in place of his tunic proclaiming '_DEATH FROM ABOVE!_'.

"Like a mean son-of-a-bitch, Ma'am!" The man replied with a huge grin as he ushered them into the converted transport and secured the door.

Someone had etched a short inscription above the entrance to the cockpit:

_Born for War  
__Fighting for Peace  
__Dying for Nothing_

"How come you all guys sit on your helmets?" Swindelli asked the door-gunner, shouting to be heard above the sound of the engines as the _Karnov_ as it took to the air with a lurch.

"So we don't get our balls blown off." The young man replied with a deadpan expression as he checked the ammo feed on his heavy machinegun then cocked the weapon.

Swindle laughed, then looked down at the thin layer of armour that made up the lower hull of the converted transport, then took off the helmet he'd been given and quietly sat on it.

The VTOL's quickly took formation and made their way across the valley towards the mountains as tree-top hight, the gunships fanning out ahead of the transports. The sun was just starting to rise, and the entire forest looked as if it was on fire for as far as the eye could see.

"Whisky-Flight, this is Big-Duke-Six: 60-seconds to target." Mulligan called out over the radio as they passed between two towering walls of rock that marked the entrance to the pass-proper, then veered off into a side-valley "Shall we dance?" She flicked a switch on one of the control panels before her, and the opening bars to Wagner's _Ride __of the Valkyries_ blasted out from massive amplifiers rigged up under the wings of the _Karnov_ and several other VTOL's.

"We rigged up some of the birds with external speakers."Covering her mike with one hand, she turned back to face the four confused passengers, "Officially they're there for S&R missions, but I just love playing music over them: my guys love it, and it scares the hell out of the Grey-Coats."

"Grey-Coats?" Kerensky asked.

"Fenner's Goons." Mulligan explained, "They all wear grey overcoats so they can be easily identified."

"_Big-Duke-Six this is Red-Dog-One._" A voice came over the radio, "_We have the enemy in sight._"

On the ground below, a few lookouts stood scanning the skies with binoculars, vigilant for any attack. One heard the faint melody over the crackly of gunfire coming from the other side of he mountain that separated them from the main battleground. A quickly shouted alarm sent crews readying field artillery pieces scurrying for slit-trenches while others readied the handful of light weapons that served as protection for the base.

Swindelli heard the start of the overture, then the distinctive crack of a Gauss-Rifle firing as a Yellow Jacket gunship opened up, its first shot missing a crew-service 20mm autocannon by less then a meter, the slug bouncing off the rocky ground and through the mess tent like it wasn't even there. Long and short ranged missiles arced through the air, interspersed by the brilliant flashers of laser-fire and streams of tracer rounds. The first wave passed over the fire base and banked off to one side, clearing the way for the follow up strike by the second wave. A hail of rocket fire stitched a line across the base, hitting the communications tent and blowing it sky-high

"Outstanding, Red Team, outstanding!" Mulligan called out over the radio as her transport circled at the outer reaches of the battlefield, "Getcha a case of beer for that one."

There was a high-pitched whine as the door-gunner bought his Minigun up to speed, then started firing in one long burst, burning his way through thousands of rounds as he traced a line of destruction back and forth across the fire base, using the steady stream of tracer-rounds like a laser-sight. Outside, a _Hawk-Moth_ veered to one side, dropping flairs as it went to throw-off a shoulder-fired ground-to-air missile. A nearby _Warrior_ pinpointed the launch-site and hosed it with autocannon fire.

The battle was not all one-sided, and a _Yellow Jacket_ spiralled into the ground, exploding in a ball of flame, and several other Air-Cav craft were showing signs of battle damage.

"Bird-Dog, this is Big-Duke-Six." Mulligan called out over the radio, "We're taking heavy fire from the ridge at coordinates 154-by-168. Request fast-movers."

"_Big-Duke-Six, this is Bird-Dog._" A voice replied from a _Boomerang_ spotter plane holding station high above the mountains, "_Re-tasking Echo-flight to your location._"

"Rodger Bird-Dog." Mulligan switched frequencies, "Echo-Flight, be advised that this fire mission is danger-close to one of my downed birds. Follow target designator now illuminated."

"_Echo-Leader to Big-Duke-Six._" A new voice came over the radio as four _Medium Strike Fighters_ came into view, their under-wing hard-points heavy with ordinance, "_Target confirmed; bringing the rain!_"

The fighters streaked overhead, moving so fast and so low that the wash from their engines shook the _Karnov_ as their deadly cargo of cluster and incendiary bombs rained down on the Grey Coats defensive line. Their aim was straight and true, and the entire ridge line erupted in a massive sheet of smoke and flame, casting long shadows across the nearby mountainsides.

"You smell that?" Mulligan asked as the _Karnov_ came in to land amid the burning ruins of the fire-base, the ground-troops already jumping out of the rear loading ramp "Napalm, Major. Nothing else in the world smells like that. I love the smell of napalm in the morning. Smells like…victory." She unbuckled her safety harness but remained seated, a far-away look on her face, "Some day this war's gonna to end."

**To Be Continued...**

_The Slackers of the Inner Sphere:  
__The very Heart of Darkness_


	31. Sword Of Justice

**Slackers of the Inner Sphere  
****Chapter 31:**** Sword Of Justice**

_New Cross County  
__Shoreham  
__Federated Commonwealth  
__12__th__ October 3064_

Keeping her word, Captain Mulligan dropped the four Mercenaries off on the far side of the mountains, miles away from any fighting, and pointed them in the direction of the nearest town.

"There is something I would like to know." Kerensky walked beside Swindelli as they made their way down the mountainside, following the path of a firebreak, "What happened on Mt. Diablo?"

The major was quiet for a moment, then cocked his head to the side.

"Your people in the Clans, do they understand the concept that there are some things a man just doesn't question?" He asked, "Like why water is wet? Or why women always go to the bathroom in pairs?"

"I only ask because your kinsman mentioned that he never thought you were to blame for what happened on Mt. Diablo." Kerensky shrugged, "You do not talk about your past very much."

"You're a fine one to talk." Swindelli snorted, "If you must know, Mt. Diablo is the reason I left my home town. Now can we drop the subject?"

"That was not an answer." His subordinate pointed out, "That was an evasion."

"Mt. Diablo is a mountain back on Cerillos, not far from where I grew up." Swindelli stopped dead in his tracks, "And it's something I've spent more than ten years trying not to think about, okay? There are some things that are best left in the past, and this is one..."

There was a snap like someone stepping on a twig, and the four of them froze as a dozen heavily armed Grey-Coates stepped out of the tree-line.

"Um, hi." Swindelli raised his hands in surrender, "I can't believe I'm going to say this, but take me to your leader?"

**

* * *

_Militia Stockade  
Lancing City  
Shoreham  
Federated Commonwealth_**

_16__th__ October, 3064_

"Jail cell design hasn't changed much in centuries, has it?" Swindelli stood examining the cell that he had been thrown into the night before, "Maybe it's time they brought in the laser bars, or something."

Laying on his bunk in the next cell along, Kerensky opened one eye to look at his superior, then turned over onto his side.

"I'm just saying, that with all the advances we've made in the last two thousand years, very little thought seems to have gone into how to secure prisoners." Swindelli picked up his tin cup and started to rattle it against the bars, "**GUARD! GUARD!**"

"**KNOCK THAT SHIT OFF!**" Came back the reply from the outer office area, "You've got a visitor."

There was a clunk, then Captain Macleane came thought the door in his wheelchair, the warn-out electric motors struggling. It came to a stop outside the cells and the Liaison officer nodded.

"Well, I can't say I ever expected to see either of you ever again." He looked at the bars, "I just wish it was under better circumstances."

"Not the first time I've been in prison." Swindelli shrugged, "So, what they got us with? Not that crap the Wobblie's spun to the M.R.C.B.?"

"No, that didn't come into it; you were arrested for crimes against the state. And as we are operating under Martial Law his Lordship is empowered to pass down judgement." Macleane explained, "He found you both guilty of consorting with enemies of the state, providing aid and support to known terrorists, involvement in operations aimed at the overthrow of the lawful government and sedition."

"I take it this isn't something we can just pay a fine for?" Swindelli shook his head, "So, what's going to happen?"

"Tomorrow morning you will be taken the main square and executed by firing squad." Macleane frowned, "I'm sorry, but there's nothing I can do."

"Not even cowboys get lucky all the time, Captain." Swindelli shrugged and slumped back down onto his bunk, "What about Sharpe and Cain?"

"They were released without charge; it makes it hard to recruit more mercenaries when word gets out that you shoot those who fail you." Macleane looked round to make sure that no one was listening, "And speaking of Mercenaries, your friends in orbit headed back out as soon as they got word that you'd been arrested; I guess they figured that this wasn't a safe place for them any more."

"I wish them luck." Swindelli lay back and looked up at the celling, "They're going to need it."

**

* * *

_Commonwealth Square  
__Lancing City  
Shoreham  
Federated Commonwealth  
__17__th__ October, 3064_**

"So I tell the swamp donkey to sack it before I give her a tonk in the tradesmans' entrance and have her lick me yarbles." The guard smiled as the battered APC pulled up outside a grand old building that had once been a museum, but had been gutted by fire during the Civil War.

"That's great." Swindelli turned and climbed out of the back, muttering under his breath, "And I always thought people spoke English in the Commonwealth..."

He looked round to see a number of bloody and bullet ridden posts lined up outside the thick-walled building, and a squad of Lord Fenner's personal guard lined up and ready. More men stood around and on the rooftops of nearby buildings, weapons at the ready should the resistance try anything. An armoured hover-limousine with tinted windows pulled up and a black-clad security guard stepped out and surveyed the area before nodding to someone inside.

Lord Fenner was a tall, greying man in his mid to late fifties, rakish thin with a sharp, hawk-like nose. He was dressed in what looked like a cross between an extremely expensive tailor-made suit and a military uniform, complete with an array of ribbons over the left breast. He moved like some predatory bird, his long stride quickly covering the distance between the car and the firing squad.

"Gentleman." He nodded, "I hope you understand that I have no personnel grudge against either of you; the sward of justice must be seen to be effective. You were merely in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"Well, that's nice: I'd hate to think that I'd done something to upset you" Swindelli rolled his eyes, "I can die happy knowing that my life teaches the people that you are a fair and benevolent man.

"We are engaged in a war for the very heart and soul of a people, my dear Major, and if they will not love me, then by God, they will fear me." Fenner smiled, then cocked his head to the side as a strange, screeching sound began to drift through the square, "What in the name of god is that?"

The banshee wail of bagpipes playing _The March of Cambreadth_ drifted on the morning breeze, getting ever closer and louder. One of the guards pointed to where a solitary figure could just be seen making its way out of the mist, a set of Great Highland Bagpipes over one shoulder. As they came closer, Swindelli was startled to see that it was Sharpe, dressed in full Highland apparel, complete with kilt, sporran and a dagger poking out of one sock. He seemed oblivious to any danger as he marched past the first set of guards, still playing the pipes, his eyes locked firmly at the assembly, coming to a stop just over ten meters away.

"**He, who heard the sound of thy holy trumpet, and took not warning, He hath clearly wandered too far from the Word of God.**" Sharpe spoke like a preacher addressing his congregation from the pulpit, his voice loud and clear in the crisp morning air, "**And **_**Lucius Benedict Fenner**_**, your hour has come. Let's get it on, Big Boy: it's time to get back on The Path!**"

Filling his lungs to capacity, he took a fresh grasp on the blowpipe and let out a long, howling drone before he started to play again. But the music was drowned out by the sound of a titanic explosion that engulfed the Ducal Palace, a mushroom cloud rising high above the city.

Other, smaller explosion rocked the city, and smoke filled the air as soldiers ran about like chickens with their heads cut off. Kerensky shoulder barged Swindelli to the ground, covering his commanders body with his own as sporadic gunfire filled the air. The waters of the nearby river erupted skywards as a lance of assault Mech's in Militia colours charged up the banks, lead by an _Atlas_ with a rotary autocannon mounted under the right forearm. The weapon roared to life, a hailstorm of shells tracing along the parapet of the museum, shredding the guards before they could bring their heavy weapons to bare. Fenner's guards already had him in his car and headed to safety when a _Victor_ landed in front of it, the hovercraft hitting the 80-ton Mech's foot with bone-crushing force. The Militia pilot reached down and picked up the car as the few remaining Grey-Coat rapid-response teams arrived on the scene in a collection of tanks and other armoured vehicles. Not realising the situation, they opened fire on the _Victor_, forcing the pilot to take to the air once more, vaulting through the burned out remains of the museum to land amid the rubble, still clutching the limousine in its one hand.

A second wave of Mech's exited the river along a wide stretch, fighting their way to the square to relive the embattled assault team. Faced with overwhelming odds, the Grey-Coates started to pull back.

**To Be Continued...**

_The Slackers of the Inner Sphere:  
__The HPG is dead, long-live the Black Box!_


	32. Between A Rock And A Hard Place

**Slackers of the Inner Sphere  
****Chapter 32:**** Between A Rock And A Hard Place**

_Lancing City  
Shoreham  
Federated Commonwealth  
__17__th__ October, 3064_

A Militia VTOL made its way across the city, high above the streets where sporadic fighting was still taking place. Swindelli looked out of the window to get a better view, and saw what looked like a bank that had been blasted open, the words _**LBC WAS HERE**_ spray-pained on the wall, along with a smiley face. The next street over was the site of an ongoing battle between Militia forces and Lord Fenner's Guard, each side having taken over a tall apartment building, and shooting at each other with a selection of light and heavy weapons. As he watched a missile streaked from one side to the other, and the target building was momentarily engulfed in what looked like a cloud of steam or mist, which promptly exploded with enough force to collapse the building into the street below.

"Trigger happy bastards!" Major Nairn complained from the co-pilots seat as the transport was rocked violently by the force of the explosion, "We told them to use those sparingly. But no, their like kids on Christmas morning; they just have to play with their new toys."

"What was that?" Kerensky asked, shocked by the devastation.

"A thermobaric warhead; your man Baker gave us the formula." Nairn explained, shaking his head, "We used a big one to take out Fenner's palace: old sewer lines filled with oil and gas."

"Sounds like Baker." Swindelli nodded, "The bigger the bang, the happier he is."

"I wouldn't say that; he was drunk last time I saw him." Nairn pointed towards a small park, "We're almost there."

Dozens of armed vehicles sat parked in a semi-circle around a mobile HQ, a land of assault Mech's blocking off the open side. The _Atlas_ that had emerged from the river was knelt down on one knee, it's satellite up-link dish deployed and heavy data-cables running down to the ground. A squad of Militia troops were waiting for them when they landed, and they saluted Nairn as he led the way towards the command post, stopping just outside. Ross was standing watch outside, and he just nodded before holding the door open for them. The air inside was heavy and oppressive, thick with the smell of strong coffee and a larger number of people working in close confines. LaFollett stood over the map-table, a jump-suit tied off around he waist to reveal the cooling vest she worse beneath. She was talking into a radio headset, using a laser-pointer to move icons around the interactive map.

"I don't care how much resistance they're putting up: we need to take the bridge if we want to press through to the spaceport." She snapped at the underling on the other end, " I've ordered a company of heavy tanks to move up and support you: keep the Grey Coats pinned down until they get there, but for the love of God take the damn bridge intact!"

"Sir." Nairn nodded, slipping a data-chip into the computer, and the map shifted to show another section of the city, "J&R are still holding out in their compound outside the city." He pointing to a shaded area on the map, "We could level the compound, but there are reports of civilian hostages, so we may have to negotiate."

"J&R?" Swindelli asked, confused.

"A Lyran mega-corporation that Fenner brought in to help run things." LaFollett explained without looking round, "They have their own 'private security company', which is a nice way of saying paramilitary mercenaries, and have a less than spectacular reputation for playing by the rules. But they're Steiner blue to the core, had have been issued several fat government contracts by Katherine's regime."

"Sounds like you're having fun." Swindelli milled, "So if you could just hand over Mr Sharpe and point us towards somewhere our shuttle can land to pick us up..."

"Not going to happen." LaFollett shook her head, tapping a command that made the map zoom out rapidly to show the entire city, and the road leading to the spaceport beyond, "Fenner's people still hold most of the road and the spaceport itself. Satellite recon indicates that its under total lock-down: your shuttle's not going anywhere until we take care of them. Unfortunately, they're dug in every centimeter of the way, and putting up a hell of a fight."

"Can you not flank them?" Kerensky asked, his well trained eyes scanning the map, taking in every detail.

"The mountains are impassable for our heavy equipment, the river-plain is too wide and open for our units to cross without coming under artillery fire, and the river itself is too shallow that far upstream for us to pull the same trick with our Mech's that we used here." Nairn shook his head, "It could take weeks to dig them out."

"Unless a third force was to say, drop around here." LaFollett pointed at a area of low hills around behind the spaceport, "Say, two Lances of Mech's?"

"You utter..." Swindelli started, then thought better of it, "I'd need a direct line to Kobayashi, and a written assurance from you that you'll cover our expenses; I'm not stupid enough to think you'll actually pay us for this, but I'm not expending so much as a single drop of fuel or missile until I know for sure that we'll be compensated."

"I've already lodged an appropriate amount with the local ComStar escrow agent." LaFollett handed over a printed recruit embossed with the both the Capellan March Militia insignia and the ComStar crest, "They'll hand over the appropriate amount when the mission is completed."

"Okay, first we contact Kobayashi and get Steele to prep for a combat drop." Swindelli nodded, resigned to the facts of the mater, "Then we go find Baker; I want a little word with him..."

**

* * *

_DropShip_ Bulldog  
_Assault Orbit  
__Shoreham  
Federated Commonwealth  
__17__th__ October, 3064_**

Star Captain Marcus Steele made his way along the gantry towards his waiting _Sunder_, running through the fin details in his head. By transferring Privates Shen and Hardcastle to Lieutenant O'Hara's Lance, and temporarily moving the human enigma that was Humansquish to his own Lance, he had managed to create two five-Mech units, or as he saw it, a Binary. It was complicated, but it simplified the chain of command and meant that he didn't have to deal with Shen and Hardcastle directly; he couldn't bring himself to trust anyone who had served under Baker, no matter how short a time. No, it was better to place them under the command of someone they had no conflict with. He knew that they would carry out their part of the mission, but he didn't want to risk the animosity between himself and their former Lance leader to cause any unnecessary friction in a combat environment.

It was decidedly un-Clan like of him, but he become a pragmatist since entering the Inner Sphere.

Klaxon's sounded across the DropShip, warning of impending atmospheric entry, and he hurried to his Mech and climbed into the cockpit. He quickly strapped himself into the command couch and made sure that his coolant vest was properly connected before attaching the sensors that helped regulate the Mech's balance. The lights on the controls interface monitor all went green, and he carefully pulled his neurohelmet down and onto his head, securing the chin-strap that helped keep it in place in combat. A quick diagnostic confirmed that it was operating properly. Carefully, so as not to activate the security program, he centred the 12-digit alphanumeric authentication code needed to gain access to the Mech's key systems.

"_Stage one complete._" The _Sunder's_ computer reported, "_Please stated verbal password for voice recognition._"

"Go tell the Spartans, thou who passest by, that here, obedient to their laws, we lie." Steele spoke clearly and calmly.

"_Voice-print and password confirmed._" A vibration started deep below him as the Mech's reactor went from standby to full power, "_With your shield or on it, Warrior._"

"With my shield or on it." He nodded his agreement, activating the main monitor, and calling up a countdown to orbital insertion, activated the company-wide channel, "Ninety seconds until drop; stand by for atmospheric entry."

The entire DropShip shook as it started to encounter Shoreham's upper atmosphere at high speed. The shaking grew more and more violent as the ship dropped like a stone towards the surface at a near suicidal angle and speed. It was only the highly heat-resistant layer of outer armour that kept them alive and well. Steele felt a massive shudder run through the ship as an airlock to one of the smaller cargo bays was blown, sending refuse and general debris flying out at high speed as the compartment pressurised. The ship lurched to one side slightly as the pilot simulated an engine flame-out, part of the ruse to keep the defenders guessing.

The floor seemed to drop away as the main engines were cut, and the ship went into free-fall, swaying violently from side to side to simulate a ship completely out of control. The altimeter on Steele's HUD was dropping rapidly, but he knew that their only chance was a low-altitude drop if they were to stand any chance of catching Lord Fenner's forces by surprise. Even with their commander captured by the Militia, they were still fighting a fierce rearguard action in defence of the vital space port, no doubt hoping to hold out until reinforcements could arrive from off-world.

Steele could appreciate their dedication and tenacity, but they where the enemy; to be destroyed or forced to surrender. His eyes darted to the altimeter as it started to flash, and he braced himself as a loud klaxon sounded and a red light started to flash throughout the Mech-bay. The outer doors opened to show clear blue skies beyond, and the red lightly changed to green.

Hardcastle's _Beowulf_ was the first out the door, followed closely by Shen in her _Phoenix Hawk_ and the rest of O'Hara's team. Those Mech's without integrated jump-jets had been fitted with massive LO-LO packs. Several times the power of a standard jump-pack, their huge rocket engines were designed to burn all their fuel in a matter of seconds, providing the deceleration needed to survive such a risky mood. As it was there were good odds that someone would be killed attempting what even seasoned troops were keen to avoid. Para-sails would be next to useless, given the limited time they would have to fully deploy and act, so they had been discarded.

Any failure in the jump-pods and the unlucky pilot would have just seconds to pull the ejection lever and hope that they were blow clear of the battle before their Mech hit the ground at terminal velocity.

A hydraulic-ram pushed Steele's _Sunder_ towards the open hatch, and he braced himself for what was the come.

**To Be Continued...**

_The Slackers of the Inner Sphere:  
__Feet-first into hell!_


	33. The Forlone Hope

**Slackers of the Inner Sphere  
****Chapter 33:**** The Forlone Hope**

_Eavesdown Planes  
Shoreham  
Federated Commonwealth  
__17__th__ October, 3064_

The wind struck Steele's _Sunder_ the moment it cleared the hatch and threatened to dash it against the side of the DropShip. But the computer controlling his jump-pack fired, sending him free and clear while also starting to slow his decent. The G-forces pushed him down into his padded command couch, and his vision started to go grey around the edges as the blood drained from his head. The cockpit filled with light and noise as the Assault-Mech's threat detector picked up targeting radars paining the _Sunder_ from below. A haphazard mixture of lasers and tracer-rounds whizzed past the cockpit as the altimeter continued to plummet. A sudden surge of deceleration announced the firing of the second-stage solid rockets, and the altimeter slowed until Steele could make out individual numbers on the display. The HUD came to life, the 3D hologram showing the area below, the data-feed from the _Bulldog_ providing a birds-eye view. A mixture of heave and light armour units were awaiting them, along with a large infantry force. There was no sign of battle armour, but Steele wasn't about to count it out just yet.

One of the green icons indicating a friendly Mech started to pulse, then faded from view, only to be replaced by a red star that indicated the pilot had managed to eject. Forcing his hands to reach for the controls, Steele called up the unit roster and checked to see who had been lost: the listing for Second-Lieutenant Josef 'King-Zeus' Kingand his _Cicada_ was dark, but his emergency locator beacon was active, indicating a clean ejection. Putting the fate of the unfortunate MechWarrior out of his mind, Steele brassed himself for impact as the last few meters flashed past on the altimeter.

The force of impact almost sent his spine up through his skull, and Steele tasted the tell-tail coppery tang of blood where he had inadvertently bitten his lip. His eyes instinctively darted to the side display that showed his Mech's status. The wire-frame display showed yellow in the right knee. All other systems seemed to be operational, and the _Sunder_ lifted itself up to its full hight as the spent rocket-packs dropped away. Taking a step forward, Steele was dismayed to discover that the damage to the Mech's knee had left it with a slight limp, potentially deadly damage in a combat situation.

A flight of short ranged missiles straddled the _Sunder_, chipping off armour on the legs and bring Steele back to reality. He looked up, his HUD magnifying a pair of SRM-Carriers that were firing volleys at him while moving to the cover of a shallow depression. Rotating his Mech's torso, Steele dropped the targeting radical over the far vehicle and checked the range before selecting his twin Large Lasers and firing. Twin beams on blinding red light crossed the distance between them almost instantaneously, melting clean through the front armour and piercing the ammo bins below. The vehicle went up in a series of explosions as its ammo cooked off, gutting it completely and killing the crew.

The second crew decided that the best defence was a strong offences, and moved towards Steele at top speed, firing a fully spread of missiles. Smoke and flame enveloped the torso and head of the _Sunder_, the force of the explosions forcing it back half a step, almost tripping it over one the discarded jump-packs. Gripping the controls so tightly his knuckles went white, Steele planted the _Sunder's_ legs further apart to improve balance and checked the weapons display panel. The lasers were still recharging, so he selected the Mech's Autocannon and pulled the trigger. Even through the armour and sound proofing of the cockpit, he could here the dull roar as 185mm depleted-uranium tipped death spat forth towards the unfortunate SRM-Carrier, ripping through the armour and into the crew compartment. The fragile bodies of the Grey Coats offered even less resistance, and the vehicle span out of control, hitting a tree.

With no immediate danger within range, Steele took a moment to examine the Battlefield: the _Bulldog_ had dropped so low that the raw power from its engines had effectively vaporised a _Demolisher-II_ tank before boosting back to orbit, its job done. The remains of Lieutenant King's _Cicada_ was being used as cover by an infantry squad armed with Inferno SRM's, but a few rounds of cluster-munitions from the autocannon on Sergeant Harley's _Bushwhacker_ convinced them to keep their heads down. The rest of the attack force was holding its own, and Militia infantry and armour was already crossing the bridge.

Victory seemed to be in sight when a lance of light and medium Mech's entered the fray on the Grey Coats side, hitting the Slackers on their over-exposed left flank, Cadet Brandt's _Wolverine_ taking a PPC to the shoulder that burnt away his communications equipment and threatened his cockpit armour. He returned fire on the unidentified _Vindicator_ with all of his weapons, scoring a hit with his large and one of his medium lasers. An _Assassin_ moved to support its lance-mate, peppering Brandt with long-range missiles. Zooming in on his HUD, Steele observed that the new Mech's were painted jet-black with a stylised '_J&R_' over a silver globe on the left torso. Running the image through his war-book program as he moved to support his comrades, he was shocked to discover that there was no official listing for the emblem.

A _Hatchetman_ arced high above the battle on its jump-jets, hits name-sake axe held high with both hands as it zeroed in on Private Shen's _Phoenix Hawk_: she saw it coming and instinctively raised her Mech's right arm defensively. The blow stuck with enough force to cut clean through the housing of the _Hawk's_ ER-PPC, disabling if not outright destroying the weapon. The capacitor discharged, sending out a blast of war energy that took out the twin Medium Lasers as well. The axe was stuck fast, refusing to budge, despite the _Hatchetman's_ attempts to pry it loose. Shen responded by punching out with her left arm, firing two of her medium lasers at near point-blank range. The effect on the head of the _Hatchetman_ was nothing short of catastrophic; the cockpit visor vaporised under the onslaught and the full fury of both weapons turned the head into a ready made crematorium, and the medium Mech collapsed like a puppet with the strings cut. Lieutenant Reid appeared at Shen's side in his _Black Knight_ and pulled the axe free, before throwing it over arm at the _Vindicator,_ hitting it high on its right shoulder, effectively severing the arm while also knocking the Mech down onto its chest. Her main weapon no longer functioning, Shen ignited her jump-jets and sent her _Phoenix Hawk_ high into the air before bringing it down on the back of the _Vindicator_ as it struggled to rise.

_Death From Above_ was an attack few pilots were even willing to attempt, let alone master, but Shen pulled it off perfectly, her Mech crushing the _Vindicator_ badly enough to snap its back and send its reactor to go into automatic shut-down. Hardcastle, Detton and Humansquish concentrated their fire on the _Assassin_, while the _Commando_ that made up the still unidentified Lance's numbers backed away from the battle, its hands raised in surrender as Reid, Harley, O'Hara and Steele advanced upon it. The vanguard of Militia forces had already reached them when a ground car broadcasting a ComStar IFF beacon approached from the direction of the space port, a large white flag flying from its roof.

"Cease Fire." Steele ordered as he watched the transport through his HUD, " Lieutenant O'Hara, take your people and secure a perimeter. Humansquish, locate Lieutenant King and see if he needs medical attention."

His orders were met with a chorus of acknowledgements, and he started to power his Mech down to its stand-by position; reactor at full but weapon safeties on. A Militia _Rotunda_ armoured scout-car intercepted the ComStar vehicle, and Steele watched as their respective occupants met. Nothing seemed to happen at first, then a Militia VTOL appeared high overhead, escorted by a pair of Yellow-Jacket gunships. It landed not far from the two ground vehicles, and Steele watched as a seemingly high-ranking Militia officer disembarked and conversed with the ComStar representative.

"_Looks like you can stand down, Captain._" Swindles voice came over the radio, "_The commander of the space port garrison seems to have come to the conclusion that discretion is the better part of valour, and offered to surrender the facility intact in exchange for safe passage for him and his people on a natural ship headed off-world. ComStar' ironing out the finer points right now._"

"A wise decision." Steele agreed, "Destroying an army to win a battle is no victory, and ending a battle to save an army is no defeat."

"_Sir, I've found Lieutenant King._" Humansquish's voice came over the company channel, "_I think you'd better see this for yourself._"

Steele's eyebrow arched, and taking a fix on Humansquish's _Men Shen_, he made his way towards it, careful to avoid the growing number of Militia forces that were flooding across the bridge. Finding his subordinate amid a cluster of Militia troops and captured Grey Coats, he stopped his _Sunder_ and quickly put on the light-weight coverall that most MechWarriors carried in their equipment locker and climbing down the chain-ladder that unravelled from his Mech's chin. Humansquish stood, an SMG cradled in his arms, his eyes watching the prisoners for any sign of trouble. Steele surveyed the local troops, trying to work out just what had happened, and where King was amid the confusion.

"He's over there, Sir." Humansquish nodded towards a Militia MP who stood over what looked like a command couch, "He never stood a chance."

Now understanding what he'd find, Steele stepped round the broken remains of the command couch and looked at the earthly remains of Second-Lieutenant Josef King. He was still strapped into his seat, and looked almost serene, aside from the large calibre bullet hole in his forehead.

"Single .45 round at close range." The MP, a C.S.I. in his day-job, knelt down beside the body, "He's not been dead long; the body was still slight warm when the first of our people arrived."

"How close?" Steele asked.

"Less than a meter." The MP stood, "His side-arm was still holstered, and based by the bruising on his back, I'd say he'd already been on the ground a few minutes before he was shot."

"So they killed him?" Steele looked at the prisoners, "They shot a prisoner, out of hand?"

"Wouldn't be the first time, not in this war." The Militiaman stood, "I've already called for a full, formal investigation under the War Crimes Act, but it may be difficult if the Colonel agrees to let these bastards go off-world."

"We shall see." Steele turned and walked back to where Humansquish was standing, "Inform Lieutenant O'Hara, but remind her that we are not here to take revenge. I will contact the Major and see just what influenced he has on this planet."

**To Be Continued...**

_The Slackers of the Inner Sphere:  
__Not part of a Marvel Comics event_


	34. Blood Money

**Slackers of the Inner Sphere  
****Chapter 34:**** Blood Money**

_Whitehawk  
__Lancing City  
Shoreham  
Federated Commonwealth  
__18__th__ October, 3064_

"You see, this is the age-old problem with Civil Wars: they're never Civil." Swindelli mused as he made his way down the pavement, "Trust me, I'm from the Free Worlds League; we practically invented the modern Civil War."

"They are... unpredictable." Kerensky nodded in agreement, absent-mindedly kicking a can into the gutter, "I am glad that my people have outgrown them."

"So what do you call that little spat between your Wolves and the Jade Falcons back in '57?" The Major asked, "Because it wasn't exactly Mai-Tai's and Yahtzee."

"There is a difference between a Trial of Refusal and a Civil War." There was a hint of anger in the former-Clanner's voice, "It is a Warriors place to fight, not a civilians."

"And on that we are in total agreement." Swindelli stopped and pointed at a sign outside a small pub, "This is the place."

The pub was dimly lit with a low, beamed celling with a bar stretching the full length of the far wall. Ross was sat on one of the bar stools, a glass of stout in his hand, and he nodded at the two newcomers, before gesturing towards a nook at the back of the room that was deep in shadow. Drawing closer, Swindelli was slightly worried to see several empty glasses scattered across the table top.

"Major, Star-Captain." Baker sat back with a faint, humourless smile on his face, "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

"Information." Swindelli sat opposite his former subordinate, "Questions that need answers."

"Some would argue that the who point of a question is to be answered." Baker mused as he searched for a non-empty glass, "Others, that the mere act of asking a question gives it all the form and purpose it needs."

"We're not here to debate philosophy." Swindelli pulled a print-off from his pocket and placed it on the table, "Word of Blake brought out the controlling share on the _Vital Spark_, forcing Captain Handy to break-contact with us and return to Outreach. They tried to do the same to the Bulldog, but someone got there first. A company with a large amount of ready cash sitting in bank accounts around the Federated Commonwealth and Chaos March. A company called..."

"Hanzo Armaments." Hitomi appeared out of the shadows and sat down, "And before you ask, I did buy the controlling share in your units DropShip, as I'm sure Mr Kobayashi has worked out by now. _I_ bought it, _not_ my husband."

"Then you understand one of the reasons we find ourselves here today." Kerensky nodded, "We need that ship to continue our mission: with the MRCB having frozen our accounts, we do not have the resources to charter a replacement."

"But there was a DropShip attached to the derelict ship you found." Hitomi pointed out, "Can't you use that?"

"It's an obsolete version of the _Buccaneer_ cargo hauler." Swindelli shook his head, "With enough time, money and access to a first-rate shipyard, you might be able to convert her into a Mech transport, but she's have nowhere near the capacity of an _Overlord_. She's not even worth all that much as scrap. And as thing stand, Kobayashi can't get any response from our, employers, by the usual means." He pulled a fresh, official looking piece of paper from his jacket pocket and handed it over, "A ComStar back promissory note coving the money you invested in the _Bulldog_, and a little more, for your troubles."

"Interesting." Hitomi examined the document carefully, "You put the _Wildfire_ up as collateral? Tell me, Major, just how much is a _Tracker_ worth these days?"

"A little over 3-billion C-Bills, but ComStar only offered a bond worth a maximum of 2.5-billion." The Major shrugged, "I guess everyone's got to make a living."

"You do realise that, if I accepted this note, I would have the right to buy your ship out from under you, and ComStar would be legally bound to see that I took possession of my property." Hitomi smiled in a way that reminded Swindelli of a large, predatory cat, "A most dangerous game you are playing."

"You'd have to come up with 2.5-Billion C-Bills..." Swindelli stopped mid sentence, his eyes wide, "Just how rich are you?"

"If I liquidated every asset I own, including my share in your DropShip, I'd have something in the region of just under 1.8-Billion C-Bills." The gunsmith chuckled, "As I told you before, my family has always been in weapons, and trade over the last few hundred years has been, good. That and some long-term investments that mature over generations have kept us going through good times as well as bad. And as the last surviving member of my line, it's all mine." She shrugged, "Oh, I have a few distant cousins here and there, but no one close enough to lay claim to anything."

"You'd still be shy around 700-million." Swindelli managed to regain his composure, "And ComStar is not known for being, charitable, when it comes to such large sums of money."

"I'm sure that between us we can come to some working arrangement." Hitomi smiled, "And money may be the least of your worries: Lord Fenner's escaped. Colonel LaFollett's trying to keep a lid on it, for obvious reasons, but it'll soon become public knowledge."

"Dear God." Swindelli groaned, realising that there was a good possibility that he was going to be drawn even deeper into the fighting, "Dare I ask how?"

"It seems that not everyone in the Militia's as loyal as she thought." Baker explained, having given up on finding anything else to drink, "Someone sold out the location of the safe-house he was being held in, and a _J&R_ tactical team raided it while Steele and the others were making their combat drop. He's pulled all his remaining forces back to a bunker built into an old titanium mine and hunkered down to wait for reinforcements."

"LaFollett's also called up reinforcements; the 91st Rifles and a mixed back of Lances from shattered Mech units are already on their way here, with other units on pro-Victor prepared to join them if needed." Hitomi added with a grim smile, "The entire worlds going to hell in a hand-basket, and all Fenner and LaFollett can do is fight over who gets to hold the handle."

"Well, I don't know about you two, but I'm getting my ass off this crazy planet, post-hast." Swindelli started to rise, but some sixth sence told him to dive for cover moments before a hail of gunfire shattered the large windows overlooking the street,

Bullets filled the air, cutting down the barman before he had a chance to react. Ross managed to dive clear over the bar while Baker kicked over the heavy table he was behind while simultaneously throwing his wife to the floor. Kerensky joined them as Swindelli took cover behind what he hoped was a solid pillar, the jukebox next to him exploding in a shower of shattered glass and plastic.

"Freebirth!" Kerensky snapped, "What now?"

"I don't know." Swindelli reached round to draw his .75 from its holster in the small of his back, "But I somehow doubt they did it for shits and giggles!"

The gunfire died as soon as it started, and the ominous sound of combat boots on broken glass informed the survives that their attackers were moving in to finish the job at close hand. Part of the mirror behind the bar had survived intact, and Swindelli could see six figurers in identical black tactical gear, each armed with a TK Assault Rifle and an over-sized handgun sweep the room from side to side, the only marking on their uniform was a silver _J&R_ over the left breast. Their faces were covered in ski-masks, but it was clear that the same mirror that let the mercenary see them worked both ways.

Hitomi was on her feet before anyone could react, what looked like a modified _Stetta_ auto-pistol in each hand. A high-pitched buzz filled the air as she opened fire, 1mm ceaseless rounds shredding one of the assassins' body armour and sending him flying backwards, his chest a bloody mess. The gunsmith kept firing, moving from left to right, cutting down two more of the black-clad attacks before they were able to dive for cover. One did manage to dive behind an overturned table, but the cheep chipboard offered little protection against the sandblaster like affect of the _Stetta's_: it flew apart in an explosion of wood and blood. The remaining attacker waited until Hitomi ran out of ammunition, and returned fire with a long blast from his rifle. It was wildly inaccurate, more _spray-and-pray_ than aimed, and it shattered the few remaining bottles behind the bar. While no one was hit, it did keep them all behind cover, which allowed for four more commandos to clamber through the window, one of them getting read to throw a concussion grenade.

Baker leapt to his feet with a roar, his wife's tree-barrelled shotgun in-hand. He pulled the trigger: a wall of 12-gage shot struck the commandos head-on, followed closely by a second barrage, then a third, as Baker pumped and fired the weapon as quickly as he could. The effect was nothing less than devastating, with two of the masked gunman being thrown back out through the window into the street beyond. Ross took the opportunity to rise up from behind the bar, double-barrelled sworn-off shotgun at the ready, and took down the last of the original gunman with a double load of sold shot at point-blank range.

"Is that it? Is that the best you can do?" Baker screamed as he worked the pump on the massively oversized shotgun, his voice almost a feral snarl, "I'm the Grim Reaper, you Lyran sons of whores! _**SHOW SOME GOD-DAMN RESPECT!**_"

The last surviving gunman dived through the window and found safety behind the thick, brick wall. The sound of approaching sirens and the roar of a high-powered engine filled the air, announcing to all that the local police force was aware of what had happened.

"I think we should Call Time on this." Swindelli suggested as he fired a warning shot through the open window, "This place got a back door?"

"Sod the back door!" Baker pointed out into the street, "I'm going out the way I came in: kicking and screaming."

A blue and gold APC had skidded to a halt right outside, and hatch in the side swung open.

"Anyone call for a mini-cab?" Humansquish poked his head out.

"Ladies and Gentleman, I think it's time for Elvis to leave the building!" Swindelli ordered as he dashed across the room, keeping as low as he could.

Sporadic weapons fire rained down on them from the rooftops opposite, put the heavy machine-guns on the APC's turret soon silenced it. The others followed, but Hitomi stopped over one of the gunman and snatched the pistol from the man's holster.

"Are you crazy?" Swindelli asked as he manhandled her through the window and shoved her through the hatch into the relative safety of the APC, "This is hardly the time to stop at the gift-shop!"

"Major, this is a _Jericho 941_ semi-automatic in what looks like .45-ACP." The gunsmith examined the weapon with an experts eye, "They use to be standard issue for ComStar security agents: I've worked on one belonging to the security chief for our local HPG."

A rocket-propelled grenade struck the ground just in front of the APC, and the driver slammed it into reverse and floored the accelerator, the sudden jolt throwing Ross to the floor.

"So ComStar attacked us and tried to lay the blame on _J&R_?" Kerensky thought about it then shook his head as more RPG's rained down around them, "No, that does not make sence."

"ComStar stopped issuing them years ago." Hitomi held up the weapon, "The only factory that makes these is on Terra, and that means Word of Blake control the only source of new and replacement parts in the known galaxy. It wasn't ComStar that attacked us: it was the god-damn Blakists!"

**To Be Continued...**

_The Slackers of the Inner Sphere:  
__Ding-Dong, the Arch-Troll is gone!_


	35. Exit Strategy

**Slackers of the Inner Sphere  
****Chapter 35:**** Exit Strategy**

_Whitehawk  
__Lancing City  
Shoreham  
Federated Commonwealth  
__18__th__ October, 3064_

"We don't know what happened." Humansquish reported as the APC skidded around a corner at high, spinning through 180-degrees so that demolished a lamp-post, then accelerated down a side-street, "We were loading the last of the salvage when the _Bulldog_ started to get actively pinged by the Spaceport's defences. Captain Penwald had to take off there and then or risk loosing the ship. We still had the APC outside, along with Shen and Hardcastle. They're waiting for us just south of the city-limits: the Militia wasn't too happy with the idea of letting them bring their Mech's into the city centre."

"Son-of-a-bitch!" Swindelli cursed, "We need to hook up with them and call Penwald; arrange an extraction before things really start to kick off again."

"We need to swing by my shop first." Hitomi insisted, "I was already packing."

"This isn't a joy-ride!" Swindelli snapped back, "I'm in no mood to take passengers."

"I own the controlling interest in your DropShip, Major!" The gunsmith pointed out, "So don't talk to me about who's taking who for a ride!"

"_**YOU ARE BEYOND INSANE!**_" Swindelli screamed to be heard above the sound of weapons fire, "Fine, you want to ride with us, that's your own damn business. But he's back on the payroll!" He pointed a finger at Baker, who had taken over controls of the twin heavy machine-guns and was returning fire with a mad grin on his face, "Sober him the hell up, because he's the closest thing we've got to a chief engineer for the _Wildfire_."

"So where the hell are we going?" Kobayashi asked from behind the wheel.

"Ethan?" Swindelli exclaimed, "What in the name of all that is holy are you doing here?"

"I made he mistake of stepping out of the DropShip to get some fresh air." The lawyer explained, "Although I have to say that this thing is a little bigger than I'm use to driving."

"Take the next right, then carry on until you reach the bridge." Hitomi pulled herself forward and buckled herself into the first seat behind the driver's compartment, "Something tells me that we're going to need some serious fire-power."

* * *

The APC skidded to a halt opposite the gun-shop, and Swindelli kicked open the hatch and dropped down to the ground. A somewhat battered looking _J-27_ Ordnance Transport sat outside the former monitions bunker itself, and it was clear that the vehicle had been heavily modified over the years, turning it into a cargo-transport.

"My line of work, it pays not to take too many risks with the merchandise." Hitomi explained as she walked briskly round the vehicle and into shop proper, "Tell me we're almost done?"

"Everything you told me to load up is packed away." The sales clerk explained, "Only thin left to load are a couple boxes from your private collection."

"Excellent." The gunsmith walked over to a safe built into the wall behind the counter and opened it. Pulling out a large manlier envelope, she handed it over to her employee, "The deeds to the shop and the papers for the remaining stock and equipment: call it profit sharing."

"Boss..." The young man started to protest, but Hitomi stopped him.

"You've been a good friend, Alex, and I know how much investigating Hiro's death cost you." She smiled, hugging him, "Stay safe and don't get drawn into the fighting; you've done your bit for King and Country."

"Just who was this 'Hiro' guy?" Swindelli asked as quietly as he could, "Your wife's mentioned him a couple of times, but never given any details."

"He was Hitomi's older brother, a lawyer in the local Militia JAG." Baker explained, "That was until he was killed in what the police called a 'mugging gone bad' just as he was about to prosecute Lord Fenner's chief of security. The files he was carrying disappeared and the case fell apart. Fenner's goon got off, and a lot of people started to cry foul play. When they also started to turn up dead, people stopped talking about it. Alex was the detective in charge of the case and refused to let it drop, so they took his badge away."

"This entire plan is crazy." Swindelli spread out a map across the counter top, weighting down the corners with boxes of 9mm ammo, "The only place Penwald can set the _Bulldog_ down is here, at the far end of this valley." he pointed at a depression on the map, over a hundred kilometres from the outskirts of the city, "It's going to take us at least four hours of hard driving to get out there with the APC and that old J-27 out there. And you can bet Word of Blake will come after us with everything they've got once we're out of the city."

"The Snake Bite Canyon Highway: a long, strait road to nowhere." Hitomi looked at the map and shook her head, "Nice place if you want to see what you're car or bike can do, but you can forget about cover; place is as smooth as silk all the way. Going to be very wet this time of year, so you can forget about four hours of driving and start thinking about five or six."

"The way I see it, we have little choice." Kerensky frowned, "If we stay, then either Word of Blake will stage another attack, or we will be targeted by Lord Fenner's forces."

"That's about how I read it: the devil or the deep blue sea." Swindelli's shoulders slumped, "It's not going to be easy."

"I'm a religious man, Major, and I believe we'll get through if the Good Lord puts His mind to it." Baker shrugged nonchalantly, "Of course, He'll have to give us His undivided attention..."

_

* * *

_

_Highway 95  
__Shoreham  
Federated Commonwealth  
__18__th__ October, 3064_

"_Sleepy calling Swindle._" Hardcastle's voice crackled over the radio, the thunderstorm overhead playing havoc with the atmospherics, "_I'm five clicks ahead of you; nothing in sight._"

"Copy that, Sleepy." Swindelli looked at the APC's small radar screen and changed frequencies, "Swindle to Rogue: anything your end?"

"_Can't see much in all this rain._" Shen reported, her _Phoenix Hawk _bringing up the rear of the little convoy, "_Faint contacts at the very edge of radar range, but they keep dropping off my screen. Could just be ghosts created by the storm. Request permission to drop back and check them out anyway._"

"That's a negative, Rogue; could be a trap to pull you out of position." Swindelli glanced out of the armoured window; even with the wipers on full, it was almost impossible to see anything, forcing them to rely on the antiquated auto-guide system built into the highway, "Just keep an eye on it; a God-damn marching band could sneak up on us in this weather, let alone anyone with half-decent ECM."

Leaving Humansquish behind the wheel, the Major made his way into the rear compartment. Kerensky was sat in the gunners seat behind the twin heavy machine-guns, rain hammering against the ArmorPlex bubble that protected him, while Kobayashi sat in one of the troops seats, looking somewhat pale.

"Days like this, it's hard to remember why I quit drinking." The lawyer frowned, then shook his head, "And that's saying something."

"The fightings more than fifty-kilometres behind us." Swindelli did his best to sound reassuring, "Nothing between us and the DropShip but open highway."

"You ever wonder why no ones fighting over it?" Kobayashi asked, "Or why that roadhouse we passed just before the storm hit looked more like a military bunker?"

"Damn it, I should have known that woman was keeping something to me!" Swindelli swore under his breath and made his way back to the radio, "Swindle calling Colt; something you want to tell me about this road? We going to get caught up at police checkpoints or something?"

"_You won't find any cops around here, not these days._" Hitomi laughed, "_Biker gang called_ The Sons Of Thunder _see this entire highway and anything on it as theirs. Very serious people; very big on retaining their reputation._"

"You telling me that we're trying to get a truck load of...your stock through the territory of some hand-core bikers?" Swindelli asked, "I thought your husband was the one with the death wish?"

"_You can relax, major; we'll get no trouble from those guys._" The gunsmith replied, "_I went to school with their leader; we're, well, I'm probably the closest thing he has to a friend, outside of the gang. He knows my truck and he always lets me past, no questions asked. May cost me a couple dozen cases of beer..._"

"_Sorry to butt in, sir, but that intermittent contact of mine is back and growing stronger._" Shen cut in, "_Looks like we're going to have company real soon._"

"Let's look alive, people!" Swindelli switched to the company frequency, "We've got bird-dogs on our tail, and I doubt their friendly. Sleepy, swing back and take up position on our left flank. Rogue, you move up to our right. Buckshot, you'd better wake up and man the pop-gun you've got mounted to the roof of that thing; you're sitting on enough explosives to blow that old crate you're in into orbit. Hitomi, please tell me those our your friends out there."

"_That's a negative, Major._" Came the reply, "_They may be crazy, but they're not stupid. No way they'd try and take down a convoy that had a couple of Mech's running escort._"

"Son of a bitch!" Swindelli snapped, "Okay, people, best case scenario is it's Fenner's J&R goons looking for a fight. But it's more likely Blakists, so shoot to kill, and don't try anything cute." Dropping the mike, he lent over Humansquish's shoulder, "Put your foot down and don't stop for anything. _ANYTHING!_ You get me?"

"Five-by-five, Major." The MechWarrior nodded as the APC surged forward, "I guess it's time to see just what this thing can do."

"I'm getting too old for this shit..." Swindelli muttered to himself as he stepped back into the rear cabin, grabbing old of a hanging strap to stay upright, "Stop your grinnin' and drop your linen, boys and girls; we got company coming."

There was a loud ratcheting sound as Kerensky cocked the machine-guns while Kobayashi opened the crate of small arms Hitomi had given them and started to sort through it.

"What is that?" Swindelli pointed at a large, polished oak box. Flipping it open, he found a beautify crafted double barrelled shot gun and a number of over-sized soil-shot cartridges in a bandoleer. Picking on, he examined the bottom, ".700 Nitro Express? Why the hell didn't she tell me she was making these?"

"Is that supposed to mean something?" Kobayashi asked.

"It's only the second most powerful commercial available ammunition still in production. Although, I wouldn't be surprised if she knew how to make .50 BMG's." Swindelli swung the bandoleer over one shoulder and started to assemble the gun, "One of those Blakist freaks may have laughed off a .75 up close and personal, but this thing will stop a charging bull elephant dead in its tracks. Hell, probably blow clear through an Elemental!"

"_Stravag!_" Kerensky yelled out as he rotated the turret round, "They are here!"

"Grab the biggest gun you can find and load it." Swindelli told Kobayashi, "It's about to get interesting."

**To Be Continued...**

_The Slackers of the Inner Sphere:  
____In stereo where available_


	36. The Road Warriors

_I'd like to take a moment to recommend another MechWarrior/BattleTech story:  
_A Friend In Need _by StonedCoyote  
(aka Star Captain Marcus 'Dyrewolf' Steele)_

**Slackers of the Inner Sphere  
****Chapter 36:**** The Road Warriors**

_Highway 95  
__Shoreham  
Federated Commonwealth  
__18__th__ October, 3064_

It's tiers kicking up twin fountains of spray, the APC surged forward at its top speed, slipping and sliding on the wet tarmac as Swindelli opened the rear armoured gun-slit and poked the end of the shotgun out. It was hard to make out anything in the rain, but a shape noon emerged: a high-performance hover-bike being driven by what could only be described as Frankenstein's Monster. The man, and he assumed it was a man, had an obviously prosthetic left eye and right arm, while there were burn scars covering his neck and chest. Aiming for centre mass, Swindelli pulled the shotgun tight against his shoulder and pulled the trigger.

Even though he was expecting it, the kick from firing both barrels was enough to almost knock him down. He managed to grab a hand rail for support, and saw the first hand the damage the impact had on his target: one of the high-powered rounds struck the rider in the left arm, effectively severing it at the elbow, while the other hit the cycles gas tank. It exploded in an impressive fireball, but still the rider kept coming on pure momentum, grinning like the very face of death as Swindelli quickly reloaded.

"Out of the way!" Kobayashi pulled him to one side and shoved a semi-automatic shotgun through the hatch and pulled the trigger, emptying a full 32-round drum in a matter of seconds.

The result was less impressive than the effect of the first attack, but it did force the attacker to swerve out of the way, right into the sights of the turret on the roof. Kerensky sent twin streams of heavy rounds through both rider and bike, ripping them apart and leaving a trail of broken body parts and mangled metal in their wake.

But it's place was taken by a supped-up truck with a fresh pair of assailants in the back. It managed to dodge the fire from the turret and pulled up alongside the APC, close enough for it's passengers to leap across between the two vehicles. Swindelli responded by opening on of the side hatches and firing both barrels of his shotgun into the trucks cab at point-blank range. The drivers side window exploded outwards in a hail of blood and broken glass as, devoid of a driver, the vehicle swerved out of control. First it slammed into the side of the APC and one of its fenders was torn off and sent flying backwards, then it bounced off in the other direction, disappearing into the rain.

"We appear to have picked up a couple of hitch-hikers!" Kerensky warned as he struggled to bring the turret round to bare, "Do something about them!"

"I'm on it!" Swindelli snapped shut the breach on his shotgun as he grabbed the release on the roof hatch and pulled back hard.

It gave far easier than he had anticipated, and he fell backwards, hitting his head on one of the seats as he went down. He blinked, trying to clear the fog that was filling his mind. Looking around, he could see each and every one of the spent shell casing falling from the turret slowing spin in the air before hitting the deck with a sharp, clear ringing sound. Kobayashi was yelling something, but his voice was distorted, almost as if he was underwater. An almost angelic face appeared in the hatchway, but the woman's cold, grey eyes held only death as she levelled a large-bore laser pistol at the stunned MechWarrior.

Kobayashi spun round, bring his own weapon to bare just in time. The solid shot round struck the woman in the middle of the forehead, pricing the skin but bouncing off of a thick metal plate below. She opened her mouth and unleashed a feral snarl, her teeth filed down to fang-like points tipped with metal.

"_**CHEW ON THIS, BITCH!**_" The lawyer shoved the barrel of his shotgun between her jaws and pulled the trigger again, removing the rear half of hear head with little trouble. Almost decapitated, the body half fell into the cab.

"On your feet!" Kobayashi grabbed Swindelli and pulled him up into a seated position, "You can sleep when you're dead!"

"Okay." The major nodded, still a little groggy.

The body in the hatch was yanked clear and another Menei Domini took its place, this one a man with almost transparent skin and skull-white hair. Swindelli grabbed his dropped shotgun, planted the butt on the deck and pointed the barrels strait up before pulling the trigger. The noise was almost deafening inside the close confines of the APC, but it send the ghoul in the hatchway flying head-over-heels backwards. He landed on the sloped front armour and slid down the rain-slick metal and fell under the wheels.

A fast car shot past the APC and started to pull up alongside the _J-27_. The driver slammed his vehicle into the old transport repetitively, trying to force it off the road. Seeing this, Humansquish pushed the APC as hard as he could, and closed the distance between the three vehicles until they were driving three-abreast. He then pulled the wheel hard over, crushing the car between the two much larger vehicles again and again, ripping off large parts of the bodywork in the process. Hitomi mirrored the move, effectively crushing the far smaller civilian car between the two military transports. Front tires blown, the car span out of control, turning side-on then flipping over several times, throwing the unsecured driver clear.

A larger, heavily customised vehicle appeared through the rain, tracer rounds bouncing off of its snowplough like front as it rammed the rear of the APC hard enough to send it fishtailing across the slick road. Swindelli and Kobayashi struggled to remain upright as they were flung from one side of the passenger cabin to the other as unsecured equipment slid about around their feet. Rather than try and fight it, Humansquish turned into the skid, slamming the APC into reverse and flooring the accelerator. The old and battered transport screeched and shuddered in complaint, but its momentum kept it going long enough for the wheels to get up to speed.

"This is the worst idea I've ever had!" The driver hissed through gritted teeth, "I think..."

"_GET OUT OF THE WAY!_" Shen yelled over the radio as her _Phoenix Hawk_ loomed overhead, one massive fist reaching out and slamming into the side of the Blakist vehicle like a wrecking ball.

As modified as the truck was, it was still a civilian design, and was no where near strong enough to withstand the force on impact: the entire right hand side was crumpled inwards as it skidded half way across the road, just as the _Hawk's_ other fist came down hard, fingers stretched directly out. The sound of tortured metal giving way could be heard above the rattle of gunfire and the roar of supercharged engines as the truck snapped in two, its chassis broken clean in half. Small arms fire pinged off the Mech's armour as Shen turned her twin heavy machine-guns on a motorbike and side-car, turning it to scrap metal in a matter of seconds. Surprised by the savagery and speed of the attack, the remaining Blakist's pulled back a little but maintained pursuit.

"This isn't good." Swindelli sat down as Humansquish performed a near textbook J-turn, "We can't go on like this; we'll never make it to the DropShip."

"I do believe Miss Hanzo feels the same way." Kerensky pointed out through the turrets bubble dome, "She is turning to face the enemy."

"What the hell..." Swindelli pulled himself back to his feet and opened one of the side-hatches.

The old _J-27_ had veered off to the left, and was now executing a wide turn to the right to face back the way they had come, kicking up twin mud-tails as it went. Its horn blaring, lurched back onto the road proper, its high centre of gravity making it sway dangerously from side to side for a moment. To thundered past the APC, the single machine-gun on the cab roof sending a spray of tracer rounds washing over the Blakist's as the two forces started to close.

"Get after her!" Swindelli yelled, "If we don't stop her, the crazy-bitch is going to get them both killed."

"I only just got us facing the right way..." Humansquish protested as he slammed his foot down hard on the brakes and pulled the wheel hard over. The wheels locked up and lost traction on the whet road and the rear shot out and round, effectively turning the APC in a matter of seconds. The wheels slid slightly as they sort fresh grip on the tarmac, but they found purchase as they started off back down the highway.

A bolt of man-made lightning passed over the top of the APC from Shen's _Phoenix Hawk_, vaporising a hover-bike and its rider instantly as Hardcastle strafed the Blakist's with swath's of coherent light from his _Beowulf's _pulse laser, the icy rain allowing him to fire for much longer than normal. A series of small explosions showed where the attack had found fuel tanks or ammunition, the torrential rain making it hard to make out any details, even on LIDAR or inferred, while powerful ECM suits confused RADAR.

"Hitomi!" Swindelli called out over the radio, "Just what do you think you're doing?"

"_She's gone fong-luh, that's what's happened!_" Shen cut in, "_I thought we were supposed to be running away from these guys?_"

"_We're not fast enough to get away._" Hitomi sounded almost relaxed, "_Only way out is strait through._"

"Oh no..." Humansquish shook his head, "Please tell me she's not planning what I think she's planning."

"I think she is." Swindelli dived for the nearest seat and quickly strapped himself in, "But I'll be damned if I can think of anything better right now."

"Ah, to hell with it: I've always known I'd die young." The driver brought the APC in right behind the cargo transport and floored the accelerator, "Full speed ahead and damn the torpedoes!"

The two sides closed at breakneck speeds, neither willing to back down or swerve out of the way. The rain seemed to slacken, allowing a clearer view as a large, Blakist vehicle took up position in the middle of the pack, aimed directly at the _J-27_ and locked into a collision course. Baker raked it with machine-gun fire, ripping off parts of the bodywork and shattering the headlamps. Small arms fire answered back from several of the vehicles, but nothing heavy enough to get past the armour plating. There was no time to hesitate, no time for second thoughts as the two vehicles met head-on. The impact was nothing less than devastating for the Blakist vehicle as 20-tons of metal travailing at over 80-km/h stuck it head on like the fist of a vengeful god. The truck half exploded, half fell apart under the blow, sending debris flying in every direction.

Hitomi lost control, the trailer almost jackknifing. Hardcastle stepped in, effectively shoulder-barging the _J-27_ with his _Beowulf_ to get it back on the strait and narrow, then fired both of his ER Medium lasers into one of the few remaining hover-bikes. The fuel cell exploded, sending the hapless rider somersaulting into the air, only to land in a ragged heap right in front of the APC. If Humansquish noticed the body, it was too late to do anything, even if he'd wanted to, and the man was crushed beyond recognition. With their heavy support taken out, and the _J-27_ back under Hitomi's control, the remaining Blakists cut and ran, disappearing into the rain, broken bodies and burning vehicles the only evidence that they had ever been there.

**To Be Continued...**

_The Slackers of the Inner Sphere:  
____The Ayatollahs of R__ock & Rolla!_


	37. A New Deal

**Slackers of the Inner Sphere  
****Chapter 37:**** A New Deal**

_Montañas de la Muerte  
__Shoreham  
Federated Commonwealth  
__18__th__ October, 3064_

The rain slackened and died as the battle damaged convoy made its way back along the high way and up into the mountains beyond. It was slow going as the gradient increased, and at several points that had to slow to a crawl as the edged along crumbling roads build into the sides of near vertical cliffs. It was touch-and-go on more than one occasion, but they managed to reach the high mountain pass where the _Bulldog_ had set down. The units lighter Mech's were arranged as a screen half way down the valley, supported by the heavier units and the DropShips own weapons. Swindelli was surprised to see a pair of Clan-built _Hachiman_ fire-support tank's in the units colours.

"They belonged to a _J&R_ patrol that found itself the wrong side of the lines when the fighting started up again." Kobayashi explained when questioned, "Captain Steele agreed to let them pass, but only if they handed over those two as payment. I think he objected to having anything his people built in the hands of those assholes."

"That I can understand." Swindelli jumped down from the APC, the cold mountain air cutting into his lungs and sending an involuntary shiver down his spine, "We pick up anything else?"

"Lieutenant King's_ Cicada_ was a right-off, but we did pick up a _Hatchetman_ and a _Commando_, but we need a tech of Baker's calibre if we're going to get them operational." The lawyer shrugged, "Going to have to sober him up first."

"Yeah, well, from now on he's dry." Swindelli shook his head, "Normally I wouldn't care less if he decided to destroy himself, but we need that brain of his. Not to mention his wife owns the controlling share in our DropShip."

"Ye _Sassenach_ bastard!" Lieutenant Sharpe stomped over with a face like thunder, "Yee divvnae tell me me farther wez the one whee sent yee te find me!"

"I didn't realise it was an issue." Swindelli blinked, finding it hard to understand the other man when he was so angry; his accent seemed to grow thicker as his temper worsened, "What's it matter, anyway? I was paid to get you off of this planet, and that's what I'm going to do."

"Leik hell ah am!" The tall Capellan roared, "If it's a choice between staying heor, or having te face tha smug bastard, then I'll tyek me chances heor, thank yee very much."

"There are two problems with that plan." Swindelli smiled, "Firstly, I have your Mech on my DropShip, thanks to Colonel LaFollett, and I don't think anyone's going to be offering you a new one any time soon."

"Well, we'll just see aboot tha." Sharpe loomed forwards, towering over the Major, "If Ah want te tyek me Mech off of tha DropShip, then there ain't ne power in the 'verse can stop me!"

"Oh, I think there is." The recoilless was in Swindelli's hand before Sharpe had even seen him move, "You see, I don't get paid unless I present you to your father, dead or alive. I get paid the same, either way, so if you start causing my trouble..."

"Gentleman, gentleman, please." Kobayashi stepped between the two men in a bid do avoid bloodshed, "I think there might be a compromise that will keep everyone happy, except maybe our employer."

"Oh aye?" Sharpe seemed to calm down and lighten up at the prospect of getting one over on his father, "I'm listening."

_

* * *

_

_DropShip_ Wabash Cannonball  
_Eavesdown Space-Port  
Shoreham  
Federated Commonwealth  
__18__th__ October, 3064_

"You know, I think it's a pity that we had to encounter these mercenaries the way we have." Hawksmoor stood looking at the screen that was replaying the keyhole-satellite footage of the highway battle, "They are most tenacious and resourceful."

"They are Mercenaries; hired guns. Nothing more, nothing less." Jamal seethed, barely maintaining his composure, "Their loyalty is to the highest bidder, but unfortunately we do not have access to the needed resources to make them an offer. And that only leaves one option: we must destroy them."

"But the test subject?" Hawksmoor asked, "She was the most promising candidate for the next phase."

"The Blessed Blake sends these little trials to test our faith in his word." Jamal was suddenly serene, his previous anger vanished, "He understands that we are imperfect beings, but it is in rising above these imperfections that we praise him." He shook his head, "No, it is time to draw a line under this sorry mess once and for all, before the others with in Blessed order try and use it against us."

"Then what shall we do?" Hawksmoor looked confused, "They have eluded our every trap."

"In the immortal words of the Blessed Blake himself, 'The time to hesitate is through.'" The Demi-Precenter's expression changed to one of total resolve, "Contact the _Righteous Indignation_: I have a mission for them."

_

* * *

_

_Recharge Station  
Nadia jump-point  
Shoreham system  
Federated Commonwealth  
__1__st__ November, 3064_

The bar was as deserted as it had been the last time Swindelli had visited, but at least all of the internal lights had been turned on, banishing the deep shadows, and allowing him to make sure there were no unpleasant surprises awaiting them. Kerensky and Steele followed closely behind, with Sharpe between them. The two Clan warriors were armed with heavy needler pistols that, while not capable of piercing the stations hull, were still deadly when used against humans. Two of the hired goons were standing watch by the door, while the other pair were standing with their employer, who was looking out of the panoramic windows at the collection of JumpShip's that had brought LaFollett's reinforcements from across the Capellan March.

"Well now, Major, I was begging to give up hope of ever seeing you again." William Sharpe turned round, his eyes narrowing as he looked at his son, "You've even managed to bring young Ian back to me in one piece. I am impressed."

"You hired my unit to find your son, and here he is." Swindelli shrugged, "I do the job and then I get paid: It's how business gets done"

"A refreshingly pragmatic outlook." Sharpe senior held out a thick manilla envelope, "The remainder of your payment, in ComStar bonds, as requested."

"Much appreciated." The Major examined and counted the documents to make sure they were all there, "The Toaster worshippers are messing with our bank account."

"They do love their little games, don't they?" the older man laughed, "I've gone to great lengths to remain under their radar, until now: it remains to be seen if they're going to take offence to my employing you."

"That's your problem." Swindelli turned and started to walk off, "Our business is done."

Kerensky, Steele and Sharpe junior followed after him.

"Ian!" the old man called out, "Where the hell do you think you're going, boy?"

"With them." his son smiled, "They offered me a job."

"Like hell!" his father snapped, "That wasn't part of our deal."

His bodyguards went for their weapons, but the mercenaries were faster. Staring down the barrels of the needlers, the guards decided that discretion was the better part of valour and backed down.

"Our deal was that I'd go to Shoreham, find your son and bring him to you." Swindelli smiled, slipping his mirrored shades on, "If you feel that I have failed to complete that contract, then by all means feel free to lodge complaint with the M.R.B.C. But I should warn you that my lawyer has already forwarded a copy of said contract to the Commission, and is streaming the feed from this bars security cameras to the local ComStar station, to be uploaded to MercNet for safe keeping."

"I do not take kindly to being played, Major." the businessman hissed, "You haven't heard the last of this."

"Mr Sharpe, I've been threatened by professionals." Swindelli smirked, "You don't even come close."

_

* * *

_

_SLS_ Wildfire  
_Nadia jump-point  
Shoreham system  
Federated Commonwealth  
__2__nd__ November, 3064_

"I'm giving Sharpe command of Taplin's Lance; O'Hara just hasn't got the experience to run it full-time." Swindle explained as he made his way along the corridor leading to the ships bridge, "He'll be taking Cain and Humansquish with him."

"That'll leave the Command Lance at half strength." Kobayashi pointed out as he kept pace, "Bit of a risk, isn't it?"

"No, I'm going to fold the Fire Lance in to make up the difference." The Major shook his head, "They always were under strength, and I want to keep a closer eye on Baker; he's not been the same since whatever the hell happened back there happened."

"Yes, I'll talk to Hitomi, See if she can get through to him." Kobayashi nodded, the smiled to himself, "You know, one more Mech in Captain Steele's Lance, and people will start to mistake us for a Clan Trinary."

"Anything that keeps the enemy guess, Ethan." Swindle grinned, "Something tells me that Blake's faithful followers will be a little harder to fool."

"In my life I've seen horrendous acts carried out in the name of some religion or another by men and women with no true faith, and I've seen great acts of kindness and humanity from those who follow no single creed. And after much consideration, I have come to the conclusion that you do not need faith to be religious, and you don't need a religion to have faith." Kobayashi looked philosophical, "Religions demand that you believe a certain thing, follow a certain path. All faith requires is that you believe that there is some higher power at work in this universe, and that ultimately, things happen for a reason. That can be a god, or just karma, but in the end it comes down to each individuals own relationship with the universe. Now I was raised New Avalon Catholic Church; my family, at least on my fathers side, have been that way since it was started in 2772. But that's just my religion, and I'd like to think that my faith is, well, a little less narrowly defined."

"Well, my daddy raised me to be a good old fashioned 'fire-and-brimstone' Baptist, like his daddy before him, and his daddy before him, going back as far as anyone knows." Swindle laughed, slapping the lawyer on the back, "And he'd tan my hide if he heard me say something like that."

**To Be Continued...**

_The Slackers of the Inner Sphere:  
____Bah-weep-Graaaaagnah wheep ni ni bong!_


	38. Slow Boat To Astrokaszy

**Slackers of the Inner Sphere**  
**Chapter 38:**** Slow Boat To ****Astrokaszy**

_SS_ Wildfire  
_Zenith jump-point  
__Haappajarvi__ system  
Federated Commonwealth  
__4__th__ November, 3064_

"Twenty-four more jumps, and that's pushing it harder than I really feel comfortable, given the fact that we've just rebuilt the cooling system." Baker sat at the navigators station, hands folded across his lap, "The more direct rout would mean crossing the Capellan Confederation and the Free Worlds league."

"Very bad idea." Kobayashi stood near the hatch and shook his head, "As a former, all be it very junior, member of Free Capella, Privet Shen has an standing warrant for her arrest if she ever re-enters the Confederation..."

"...and I'd be put up against a wall and shot if I ever go home after what my former XO tried to pull." Swindelli finished for the layer as he sat in the Captains chair, spinning around in slow, lazy circles, "Anyway we can trim it a little?"

"Major, as it is we'll be passing through five uninhabited systems, three of which don't even appear on modern star-charts because they were nuked back down to bedrock during the Reunification War." Baker raised his hands in mock surrender, "As it is, we're using an out-of-date stellar atlas, navigational computer that has more quirks than I'd like and a hyperdrive that has to be periodically hit with a very large hammer to work."

"I though they fixed that back at Shoreham?" Swindelli asked.

"They didn't even know where to start; no one alive has ever worked on a ship like this. I think we were lucky to get the rest of the problems fixed." Baker frowned, "I may be able to jerry-rig a patch for the NavCom using parts from the _Buccaneer_ on the rear docking collar." He paused, "Talking of which, did anyone ever get around to seeing just what it was carrying?"

"No; the Genecaste distracted us." Kobayashi waved it away, "The manifest says its parts and technical supplies for a SLDF outpost on Detroit."

"Technical supplies could mean advanced microprocessor-chips or other lost-tech goodies." Swindelli raised an eyebrow, "Want to go take a look?"

_

* * *

_

_JumpShip_ L. Ron Hubbard  
_Nadia jump-point  
__Beid__ system  
Federated Commonwealth  
__4__th__ November, 3064_

"We have received a communication from the _Righteous Indignation_." Hawksmoor scanned the print off in her hands, "They say they can be in position to intercept the Mercenaries as they cross the boarder into the Periphery, if they stick to the projected course."

"Signal back that we will keep track of the Mercenaries and try to ascertain just where they will be crossing the boarder." Jamal was sat back in his chair, the hood of his robes of office pulled up over his head, casting deep shadows across his face, "Remind them that I want no survivors; dead men tell no tails."

"As you wish, sir." Hawksmoor started to turn, then stopped, "Sir, what of the _Manei Domini_? We still don't know who sent them, and there are at least two more unaccounted for."

"We have enemies, even within the Order." Jamal dismissed her concerns with a casual wave of his hand, "There are those who would rather work against us then with us, even as we attempt to see the vision of the Blessed Blake to fruition."

"We could contact Terra." His subordinate suggested, "I'm sure that if we were to explain our actions..."

"We would be declared heretics and disavowed." The Precenter growled, "No, the only way out of this, this insanity is to see it through to the end; our fate is now liked to that of the Mercenaries." He seemed to shrink even further into the shadows, "Blake's will be done."

"Blake's will be done." Hawksmoor bowed her head and back out of the room.

* * *

_DropShip _Star Dancer IV  
_Zenith jump-point  
__Haappajarvi__ system  
Federated Commonwealth  
__4__th__ November, 3064_

"Four cases of self-sealing stem bolts and a dozen boxes of reverse-ratcheting routing planers." Baker looked at the dust covered manifest stuck to the side of a cargo pod, "Well, they've got to be worth, let me think, bugger all?"

"I've got supplies for a field hospital over here." Kobayashi gestured towards a hatch, "Doubt the medicine will be any good after so long, but we may be able to off load some of the electronic equipment."

"I want the medic from the _Bulldog_ to go over it first and see if there's anything we can use." Swindelli looked around, and noticed a hatch half hidden behind a couple of crates, "What's through there?"

"Only one way to find out." Baker grabbed one of the boxes and carefully moved it to the other side of the walkway, mindful of the fact that while it lacked weight in zero-g, it still had mass and momentum. It took a while to completely clear the hatch, and even longer to rig a temporary power source to the mechanism and find a way to override the lock.

"Whatever is in here, someone didn't want it fond." Kobayashi remarked as he activated a pair of large chemical glow-sticks and tossed them through the open hatch. They span slowly end-over-end, until they illuminated a single crate in the middle of the room. The lawyer look at it and swallowed hard, "I'm not sure if I should feel disappointed, or worried."

"Let's find out, shall we?" Swindelli let the way, the click of the magnetic plates in the bottom of his shoes echoing off the far bulkheads. Reaching the box, he pulled off the dust cover and let it float off into the darkness.

"Oh God..." Kobayashi looked at the various warning labels stamped all over the crates below, "We are in so much trouble."

"I think that's an understandable." Baker took half a step back, crossing himself, "How do we get ourselves into these situations?"

"Relax guys, it's not like they're going to be live." Swindelli cracked a smile, "I mean, they're getting on for 400-years old..."

"Tritium decay hasn't been a problem since the Age of War, and the Star League built things to last." Baker pointed out as he started to back away towards the hatch, "Word is ComStar has teams on stand-by across the Inner Sphere in case anyone digs up a couple of these things by accident."

"We should probably contact them first chance we get." Kobayashi nodded in agreement, "We could get into a lot of trouble is we're caught with..."

"Don't say it! I don't want to hear anyone saying that word, not once!" Swindelli raised a hand to silence the other two men, "We lock the hatch, keep quiet, and hope to hell that we don't get into any more trouble with the M.R.B.C over this."

They stumbled back through the hatch and Swindelli hit the controls to close it.

"Reset the codes: I want the three of us to be the only ones to have access." He ordered Baker, "And make sure it takes two codes to open it, just to be extra safe."

"Good idea." The Sergeant nodded his agreement as he got to work.

"If memory serves, ComStar have maintain a presence on the recharge station in the Shaunavon system." Kobayashi suggested, "We could let them know as soon as we arrive."

"That's still four jumps away." Swindelli lamented, then turned to face his two companions, "No one else finds out about this. No one!" He pointed an accusing finger at Baker, "Not even Hitomi. Word of this gets out, people are going to start acting jumpy, and things are bad enough around here as it is. We get the rest of this cargo inspected, and anything we can easily sell, we move over to the _Bulldog_. Then we restrict access to this ship."

"Agreed." Baker looked up from his work and nodded.

"For once we have unanimous agreement." Kobayashi looked ill at ease, but nodded his consent to the plan, "And may God have mercy on our souls if we screw this up."

* * *

_SS_ Wildfire  
_Zenith jump-point  
__Safe Port__ system  
Federated Commonwealth  
__20__th__ November, 3064_

Time passed slowly for all on the ship. Swindelli pushed them as hard as he could with small-arms drill and hours in the simulators, but even then, there was only so much they could do to stave off the inevitable tedium of deep-space travel. Books and manuals were read, Tri-Vid shows and movies watched, including a small stash of discs belong to the ships original crew. Others spent time redecorating the communal areas and crew quarters of their new home; a small bar was set up in the officers mess, and strict two-drink limit introduced. At Swindelli's request, Hitomi took over one of the machine-shops and started work on developing a counter to the cyborgs that they had gone up against on Shoreham.

"The standard ammunition I supply for the .75-Recoilless is custom-made Magnum round based on the .50 Action Express, which has been in production for well over a thousand years and is normally used for big-game hunting." the gunsmith stood behind a cluttered desk, her arms folded across her chest, "I've supplied them to SWAT officers and they've told me that they've been known to blow clean through even military grade body armour. That would imply that what we went up against was something much more heavily armoured." She looked Swindelli, "We're talking Battle Armour levels here; like, say, Elementals."

"You know, I never paid much attention to all the stories people pass around about Word of Blake." The Major lent against the bulkhead with his hands in his pockets and frowned, "I figured that it was the normal bull-shit you get about any clandestine organisation. But I shot one of them in the head and point-blank range and it barely even slowed her down."

"Which means we're going to need something a hell of a lot bigger than I've ever been able to make before now due to legal restrictions on what I can sell as a civilian gunsmith, but now I'm with you guys, the gloves can come off." Hitomi pulled a set of schematics from a folder and lay them on the work-top, "These are some of my fathers original sketches back when he was working on _Land Warrior_ for the AFFC; it's a high-explosive, armour-piercing round based on the .30-06 Springfield cartage, but with a tungsten-carbide core around a military-grade high-explosive. The detonator is designed to blow the charge a fraction of a second after the bullet starts to deform, hopefully after it's blow through whatever you were aiming at. I have what I need to produce them for the triple-barrelled shotgun, but I'll need to remould a few tools if you want something your .75 can fire."

"Get started as soon as you can: something tells me we're going to need them again sooner rather than later." Swindelli nodded, "How many more .75's you got?"

"Six, with parts for four more." Hitomi cocked her head to the side inquisitively, "Why?"

"Because it just became our standard-issue side-arm." Swindelli turned and head for the hatch, "I don't want my people to be under-gunned next time we go up against those Blakist freaks."

**To Be Continued...**

_The Slackers of the Inner Sphere:  
____All your bases are belong to us!_


	39. New Blood

_No, this story isn't dead, but it was listed as MIA for a while  
__Some credit must go to The Red Corsair, where ever he may be;  
__he wrote much of his intro_

**Slackers of the Inner Sphere  
****Chapter 39: New Blood**

_SS_ Wildfire  
_Zenith jump-point  
__Bromhead_ _system  
Federated Commonwealth/Periphery Boarder_

_9th January, 3065_

"God, I hate Mondays." Swindelli muttered as he pulled himself out of his bunk. He stood in front of the mirror and looked at his reflection for a moment; he was no longer the young man who'd left home almost ten years before. While he still had all his hair, and it hadn't started to go grey just yet, his eyes were those of a man who'd seen more than his fare share of hardship. Shaunavon had been a bust; ComStar had closed their depot and local HPG station was listed as being suspect, possibly under Blakist control and there was no way he was risking contacting them, let alone handing over the cargo they had found on the _Star Dancer_. So they had simply recharged their jump-drive and left, maintaining course for the boarder. Robsart and Horsham and had been thankfully uneventful, but their HPG stations were too small and provincial to have the specialised equipment or personnel they needed.

Still, they were a little closer to their destination.

The intercom buzzed, bring him back to reality.

"Speak." He commanded as he flipped the switch and started to get his shaving gear ready.

"_Sir, we've just received a incoming communication from the planet._" Lieutenant O'Hara, who'd drawn the early morning watch, announced, "_It was encrypted with one of the cyphers Mr __Kobayashi told us to look out for._"

"That's unexpected." Swindelli mused as he spread shaving foam over his face, "Anything interesting, or just more death threats from Word of Blake?"

"_That's the strange thing, sir; it was an invitation._" The young Lieutenant sounded somewhat phased, "_It just read 'would you like a cup of tea?', followed by an address in __Bromhead City._"

"Wake Kobayashi and have him verify the authenticity." the Major instructed as he started to run his old-fashioned cut-throat razor across his skin, "If it passes, pass my compliments to Captain Penwald and inform him that I want a 2G burn in-system; I don't want to be sitting around a back-water system like this a moment longer than I have to."

"Aye-aye, sir." O'Hara cut the link.

"Today may just prove worth getting out of bed for after all." Swindelli contemplated as he continued his shave, "Who'd have thunk it?"

* * *

_The Green Lotus Team Rooms  
__Bromhead City  
__Bromhead__  
Federated Commonwealth/Periphery Boarder  
__16__th__ January, 3065_

James Burk sipped the hot tea that was brought to him by the rosy-cheeked waitress. As she walked away Red appreciated how the sway of her hips and the cut of her tight short black skirt complemented her figure and left the rest to the imagination. Red had a good imagination. He leaned back in his chair until it rested against the wall of the back corner of the small diner and put his feet up on the table.

He sipped his tea and watched as two men came walking though the diner's door, one very business like, moving though the diner as if he had been a regular patron for years. A striking contrast to the man next to him, whose eyes looked about the room in anticipation of some surprise. He wouldn't find any, if not for the presence of Burk and these two men there was little that separated this little diner from any other of its kind throughout the Federated Suns.

Well except for the Tea; this diner had very good tea.

The two men made their way back and sat at Burk's table. The businessman spoke first, "Mr. Burk I presume?"

"James Nathaniel Burk," Burk replied, setting his teacup on the table and smiled a friendly smile. "but my friends call me Red."

"What does everyone else call you?" the second man asked.

Burk's smile quirked a bit to make it a little sly. "Red," he answered. "And you are?"

"Major Ricardo Swindelli. 'Swindle'."

"Ethan Kobayashi." the businessman said offering a handshake. Burk ignored it: Kobayashi had the look of a lawyer, and Burk didn't care much for lawyers.

"What? He has no call sign?" Burk asked Swindelli.

"Can we get down to business?" Kobayashi interjected, sounding on the edge of being annoyed. "What do you have for us?"

"You're no fun Mr. Kobayashi." Burk reached under the table and out of a duffle bag took out a disk. He passed it across the table to Kobayashi, "A gift from our benefactors, view at your leisure."

"Have you looked at it?" Kobayashi asked.

Burk was in mid sip of his tea, he savoured the flavour before swallowing then set his cup back on the table. "But Mr. Kobayashi, that would be dishonest," He answered without a hint of sarcasm. His smile was friendly again, but there was a hint of something dangerous in his eyes, as he looked Kobayashi in the face.

"Our benefactors?" Swindelli interrupted the impromptu staring match, "What do you mean by that?"

Burk picked up his tea but before he took a sip he answered, "I'll be going with you, so I'll be joining the Slackers of the Inner Sphere."

Kobayashi hid it well, but Burk could see that announcement didn't sit well with him.

"Despite what the name suggests," Swindelli said "I don't take free-loaders into my unit."

"I'm a fair Mech pilot and you won't find any JumpShip Navigator in the Inner Sphere or periphery who's better than me."

"I have confidence in our JumpShip's crew," Kobayashi butted in.

Burk's smile slid off his face, he looked Kobayashi in the eyes again and asked, "Have they ever plotted a jump to a previously unknown pirate point using nothing but outdated navigational charts and intuition under battle conditions?"

Kobayashi was at a loss for words, "Well… err… not that I know of…"

"Do you have your own Mech?" Swindelli asked.

"Sort of," Burk answered.

* * *

Burk watched as a Prime Mover carried his _Shadow Hawk,_ which was just this side of slag, onto the DropShip _Bulldog_. The Mech had seen better days, most of them more than three decades ago.

"Why does it seem like this is becoming a common theme in my life?" the rhetorical question was asked by Swindelli as he approached Red.

"Couldn't tell you," Burk replied, "but it was like this when I bought it... well, stole it, anyway."

"Why would you go out of your way for that?"

"Believe it or not," Burk gave a sigh, "this was the best there was to choose from at the time."

"There's something else I want to ask you." There was an unmistakable tone to Swindelli's voice.

Burk turned to face his new Commanding Officer, not that rank or position mattered to him. He believed in people filling the roles they were naturally suited for. A good leader would lead, and Burk would follow and do what he was good at.

"I thought Kobayashi would have protested letting you on more than he did." Swindelli said, "Any reason why he didn't?"

"Offhand I can only think of one. He thinks I may know more than him about our benefactors, or more about other things he doesn't know himself."

"Do you?" Swindelli's question was blunt and to the point. Red liked that kind of question because it skipped over all the subterfuge and generally saved time.

"Would you believe me if I said no?" Burk smiled his sly smile, "Besides, it doesn't matter if I know anything. All that matters is that Kobayashi doesn't know if I know what I might know."

"This might be worth it if only to watch you get under his skin," Swindelli chuckled.

Burk's smile became absolutely wicked, "Oh I do hope so…"

Swindelli walked away, trying to decide just what to make of the newcomer; he certainly seemed confident enough, but there was a very fine line between confidence and arrogance. More than one MechWarrior had strayed across that line and not lived to tell the tail. The truth was Swindelli didn't really care just what Burk's story or angle was, just so long as he did what he was told and didn't screw up too badly.

"Give him a Corporal's stripes and put him in with Steele." He ordered Kerensky as his XO fell into step beside him, "I want a close eye kept on him; we may not know much about our 'employers', but we do know that they wouldn't lumber us with some asinine moron they picked at random. No, he knows more than he's letting on."

"Then I guess it is true: the Inner Sphere _is_ crazy." Kerensky laughed, "But on the plus side, I find myself back in a Trinary. It reminds me of my Sibco days."

"You know, I find it highly disturbing when you, a True-born MechWarrior of Clan Wolf; and I don't even know if you're a full-Wolf or one of those guys hiding out on Arc-Royal, starts getting nostalgic for your childhood." The Major looked at him, "I can't help but feel it's somewhat out of character. I was under the impression that you guys were supposed to be hard-ass shit-kickers from the day they decanted you to the day you died. Preferably young and in a blaze of glory, I might add. But you, you're starting to go grey around the edges!"

"Slavish adherence to tradition shows that one has nothing better to think about, or so I have been told." Kerensky smiled, "I am a Warden: I believe that it is only through understanding the Inner Sphere that we can truly learn to help, guide and protect it. And that is why I am here; to learn all I can so I can teach my people that we need to come as conquerors when we can come as brothers."

"Well keep your little philosophy experiment to yourself." Swindelli ducked down to pass through a hatch as the work crew set about lifting the _Shadow Hawk_ behind them into a maintenance gantry so they could at least start to work on it, "Life is interesting enough around here as-is."

* * *

_JumpShip _L. Ron Hubbard  
_Nadia Jump-Point  
__Wrentham System  
__Federated Commonwealth  
__16__th__ January, 3065_

"Sir, we have a report from one of are agents on Bromhead." Hawksmoor announced triumphantly, "The Mercenaries have been sighted there."

"Pass the information on to the Righteous Indignation." Jamal ordered, not looking up from the game before him. He had spent hours plotting his next move, and was almost ready with what he felt sure was a winning strategy, "Remind them that I want to survivors."

"Sir?" Hawksmoor sounded unsure, "The test subject..."

"If we had been able to catch up with them on a planet, then we may have had a chance." the Precenter shook his head, "No, it is far better for all concerned that we close the book on that project and move on."

"By your command." Hawksmoor looked at the game, "I do not understand your fascination with this pass-time."

"And that is why you are the Adept, and I am the Precenter." Jamal chuckled as he made his next move, For well over a thousand years, this game has been used to teach strategy and planning. You can't just move randomly; you have to plan in advance, predicting what your opponent will do and making sure that you are ready for them..." There was a loud cluttering, "Damn."

"_KerPlunk!_" the young Acolyte he was playing shouted in joy.

Jamal looked her in the eye for a moment. Then, quick as a rattle snake, he swept the game from the table with his left hand, while his right came up, brandishing a hold-out laser. Hawksmoor reacted on pure instinct, pushing the startled young woman out of the way while knocking her superiors hand to one side so that the beam of azure energy missed wide.

"Do we have to have the talk about sportsmanship again?" She asked, in the tone of someone who had just young a young puppy sitting next to a damp patch of carpet, "Because if you can't play nice, then it's back to the Naughty Stool with you!"

"I'm sorry." Jamal sounded genuinely apologetic, "I guess I got a little caught up in the game."

**To Be Continued...**

_Slackers of the Inner Sphere:  
__Blatantly wasting your time since 2005_


	40. Ships In The Night

**Slackers of the Inner Sphere  
****Chapter 40: Ships In The Night**

_SS_ Wildfire  
_Zenith jump-point  
__Uninhabited_ _system  
New Colony Region, The Periphery  
__15th February, 3065_

"Navigational computer's back up!" Baker exclaimed with no small sence of pride, "_I had to performed a Physical Impulse Routine, but it's working."  
_

_"A what-now?" Swindelli asked over the top of the book he'd been reading._

_"He hit it with a hammer." Burk explained as he pulled himself out from somewhere deep within the bowls of the ships computer._

_"Ah!" Swindelli nodded slowly, "You didn't think that maybe you should be a little more gentle with the 500-year old starship that's the only thing between us and a cold, gasping death?"_

"Figured it was a case of 'kill or cure'." Baker shrugged, "And it worked, didn't it?"

* * *

_SS_ Wildfire  
_Zenith jump-point  
__Uninhabited_ _system  
New Colony Region, The Periphery  
__19__th__ February, 3065_

Time passed slowly, with little to do but run combat simulations and re-read the same books, watch the same TriVids and listen to the same music for the hundredth time. The sheer monotony of such a long journey was starting to get to the crew, and Swindelli was worried that something or someone might eventually break if he didn't think of something soon. There weren't any major worlds on their projected rout to Astrokaszy, so there wasn't even the chance of stopping at a recharge station or cargo transfer hub.

All that changed when he was awoken in the middle of the night my the general-quarters alarm, and his hand was already slamming down on the intercom before his eyes had opened.

"Talk to me." He croaked.

"_Massive IR bloom 20,000 km off the port beam._" Kerensky reported, "_Computer says high probability of pre-arrival pulse._"

"Could be a merchant." Swindelli pulled himself into a seated possession, rubbing his eyes, "They must pass through this system all the time..."

"_That's a negative, Sir._" Baker cut in, "_Bloom this big, we're talking something in the region of 400,000 tons._"

"Then it has to be a _Monolith_, or a very heavily loaded _Star Lord_." Swindelli racked his brains, "Only people out here with a ship that big would have to be a major shipping line or a government. Maybe a military transport." He stood, grabbing his coveralls off the chair where he'd left them the night before, "How long do we have?"

"_Hard to tell at this range._" Kerensky sounded more than a little out of his depth, "_They could jump in any moment now._"

"Is the jump-sail still out?" Swindelli asked, cursing under his breath in Spanish as he started to pull on his cloths and hunt for his shoes.

"_We're about half way through furling it._" Baker reported, "_It'll take another hour and a half or so to get it in the right way. A hell of a lot less if you've got the cash to spend on a new one when we get to Detroit._"

"Do what you can, and in the mean time, rig the ship for silent running." Swindelli headed for the door, "I'm on my way up now."

* * *

Swindelli stepped through the hatch into the bridge and did a quick check: Kerensky was in the captains seat, Baker was at the engineering station, Burk navigation and London the helm. That would leave the ___Bulldog_ short their best pilot if they had to detach, but if things got that bad in an uninhabited system, the lack of their primary helmsman would likely be the least of their worries.

"We just picked up the secondary arrival pulse." Kerensky announced as he surrendered the command seat and moved over to the small gunnery station, "Whoever they are, they are here."

"Okay, let's everybody just keep it cool." Swindelli sat down and looked at the limited amount of information presented on the main screen, "Fire the lateral thrusters; short, controlled burst. I want us drifting further away from them, just in case they turn out to be hostile."

"No more than a thirty second burst at half power." Baker warned, his eyes fixed on the screen displaying the status of the ultra-delicate jump-sail, "Any more than that and I can't compensate."

"Port thrusters, thirty second burst at half power, aye." London repeated back to make it clear she understood the order, then gently pressed down on the controls for the array of RCS units built into the outer hull at key points. With the skill that only came from years of experience she carefully feathered the thrusters to avoid ripping the jump-sail or tangling the guide wires.

Ever so slowly, the 120,000-ton ship started to move away from the unknown contact, even after the thrusters had ceased firing and the Sir Isaac Newton was placed firmly in the driving seat.

"I am picking up active sensor sweeps." Kerensky warned, the bridge otherwise deathly silent, "Very faint; probably just a short-range pulse to check for anything that might damage their jump-sail."

"Just so long as that's all they do." Swindelli steepled his fingers and rested his chip upon the tip, "What are our emissions like?"

"Nothing active." Burk switched one of his screens to the passive ECM systems built into the ship by the Star League, hundreds of years before, "If it wasn't for the damn jump-sail, we'd be effectively lost in the output of the star."

"Well, let's just play dead and hope they don't look too hard." Swindelli smiled, "If they're not expecting to find anyone, then they may not look too hard."

"We're not that lucky." Baker announced, sending the information from his console to the main screen for the other's to see, "I had the computer double heck all the information we had on our friend out there; size, intensity and duration of the pre-arrival pulse, heat bloom from when they brought their reactor back up and spectral analysis." He looked around to make sure he had everyone's attention, "The computer predicts a high probability that it's a warship, and not a surveillance ship with pop-guns like us."

"By the Unfinished Book!" Burk groaned, his mouth dry, "Can you tell what type?"

"No, but there are only a few ships within that weight range still around." Baker shook his head, "Most likely a large Corvette or a small Destroyer."

"It might as well be a bloody ___McKenna__,_ for all the good it does us!" Swindelli looked ashen, "I say we make life a leaf on the wind and just drift away, nice and slow. They never even need to know we're here."

The bridge went quite, save for the low drone of the environmental system. All eyes were fixed on the intermittent contact on the main screen as time seemed to slow to a crawl. The readout indicating their distance from the unknown ship slowly ticked over, each extra kilometre adding to their safety margin.

"IR SPIKE!" Baker announced suddenly, almost given the other's a collective heart attack, "They're preparing to jump out."

"Well, then who ever and whatever they are, they must have Lithium-Fusion batteries." Swindelli contemplated as he tried to get his pulse back to normal, "Let's just hope we don't run into them again; we've not picked up any scuttlebutt about a warship patrolling out in these parts, so the chances are they don't want to be seen." He stood, somewhat unsteadily; his body starting to exact its toll for the adrenalin it had flooded through his veins, "Wait until they're gone, then bring the jump-sale in nice and slowly; we've had quite enough excitement for one day."

"Seyla." Kerensky nodded his agreement, "Seyla."

* * *

_SS_ Wildfire  
_Zenith jump-point  
__Uninhabited_ _system  
New Colony Region, The Periphery  
_20th _February, 3065_

"You updated the ship's navigational database when you found it, right?" Burk looked intently at the screen of the MicroComp he had hooked into the mainframe so he could run a diagnostic.

"Yeah; standard procedure for salvage operations." Baker nodded, pulling up the relevant files, "Why?"

"Because I just found a backup copy of the original Star League Defence Force map." Burk sent the data to the main screen at the front of the bridge, "And according to it, this system's supposedly inhabited."

"The hell you say." Swindelli put his book down, "There's nothing between Herotitus and Detroit."

"Well, according to the ship, there's a planet out there called Jasper's Landing." Burk moved over to the communications console, "I'm going to send out a basic challenge ping; see if there's anything out there."

"Hold on a second." Swindelli raised on hand to stop him, "What's the status of our jump-drive?"

"Batteries are charged: we can jump any time you like." Baker looked at the readings, "Inter-system drive is reporting green across the board, and all the low-power test I've run have come back well within safety margins. Say what you want about the Star League; they knew how to build a ship to last."

"They also knew how to build weapons of mass destruction." Swindelli pointed out with a slight edge to his voice, "If that planet's off the charts, then the chances are that it was hit by something nasty; either during the Reunification Wars, or after the Star League fell. Either way, there could be all kinds of unpleasant surprises waiting for us."

"Or there could be a fortune in LostTech and other relics." Baker countered, "I'm not an adventurous man by nature; I never wanted anything more than a quiet life, but an opportunity like this doesn't come up every day." He lent forward, "Look, our map of this system's pretty accurate, and it says there's a stable pirate point not too far from where this 'Jasper's Landing' is supposed to be. We could head in, swing by and have a little look. If there's nothing of interest, or it looks too dangerous, then we can just turn tail and head on back out."

"We're talking about a week, maybe eight days." Burk shrugged as he ran the maths in his head, "If nothing else, it'll give us something to do."

"Okay, okay; you got me." Swindelli raised his hands in mock surrender, "We'll go have a look. But the first sign of trouble, we bug out. Understood?"

"Sir." Baker nodded.

"Fine by me." Burk stood, "Now if you gentlemen don't mind; I believe I hear the head calling."

With that he stood and made his way out of the bridge, the hatch closing automatically behind him.

"That cargo we found." Swindelli's voice was cool, calm and level, "Could it be adapted to be fit our missiles?"

"Jesus H. Christ!" Baker baulked at the idea, "Do you have any idea what you're asking?"

"Yes; I'm asking if you have the knowledge and equipment needed to refit four of our _Barracuda_ missiles with Alamo thermonuclear warheads." the Major nodded, "And yes, I'm sure it breaks just about every rule in the book, but I have two very good reasons. First, we're unlikely to run into a ComStar base that has a fully staffed and equipped munitions disposal team out here, so our best best for getting rid of them it's likely going to be dumping them into the nearest star. And second, I want an Ace up our sleeve, just in case we run into that Warship again and it is hostile."

"Space is big, and a warship, even a bloody _Battleship_, is small." Baker took a deep breath, "Okay, you want my honest answer? I don't know. Try and remember that I'm a theoretical physicist by training, and my speciality is hyperspace theory, not nuclear physics. I probably know more about the nature and structure of space-time then I do about nuclear weapons. And trust me, I've met a couple of the guys who wanted to work in that area, maintaining the Suns strategic reserve; they're not exactly right in the head, if you ask me. It takes a certain kind of objective morality to spend your life looking after weapons that can depopulate a planet."

"I've read up on the Alamo." Swindelli waved him off, "It's 5 kilotons, barely big enough to take out a small city."

"I'll remind you that you said that, when we're on death row." Baker shook his head, "I'll run the maths, but I can't promise you anything; they're two completely different systems that were never meant to work together. One wrong connection and, well..." He pressed his hand together and then pulled them apart, "We all get to stand in line for a harp and a halo."

**To Be Continued...**

_Slackers of the Inner Sphere:  
____A wholly owned subsidiary of MomCorp_


	41. All Deaths Dark Designs

**Slackers of the Inner Sphere  
****Chapter 41: All Deaths Dark Designs**

_SS_ Wildfire  
_High Orbit__  
____Jasper's Landing__  
New Colony Region  
__The Periphery  
__28th February, 3065_

"Yeah," Swindelli looked at the information coming back from the atmospheric probe they had deployed, "that's pretty much what I was expecting."

It was just about possible to tell if Jasper's Landing had once been inhabited; the faint ruins of what had to have been major metropolitan cities could still be seen on the ground-scanning radar, but from orbit there was nothing but dust and cloud. Continent-sized lightning storms illuminated the night side of the planet, while they could see the scars of countless orbital strikes against what had once been a major space-port and evidently some kind of attached military complex. But the world hadn't died easy; a massive debris field made navigation a serious hazard, forcing them to keep their distance. Just who had attacked, why and what happened to any survivors was anyone's guess, but the planet was in the middle of a near textbook example of a nuclear winter.

"Son of a bitch." Kobayashi shook his head, "I could use a drink. A really big drink."

"You are not the only one." Kerensky looked pale, "My forefather's left the Inner Sphere to try and stop this from happening; they feared that the Star League Defence Force would be corrupted and used to do, this," he gestured towards the screen, "to countless other worlds. But seeing it now, with my own eyes, I have to ask if maybe they could have prevented it if they had stayed."

"Nothing could have prevented the Succession Wars." Swindelli frowned, "Aleksandr Kerensky was a wise man who had seen just what sort of devastation his army would bought to the Inner Sphere. No, as much as I may hate to say this, I think he did the right thing. His son, well was an asshole..." He saw the poisons looks both Steele and Kerensky were giving him, "Oh, get over yourselves. Freedom of Speech was supposed to be a core value, back in the old Star League."

"There are simply some things you do not say, regardless of how you feel on the matter." Steele's voice dripped with icy venom, "Understand, Quiaff?"

"Shut up, both of you?" Baker interrupted, one hand raised, ending the conversation before could turn ugly, "We just got pinged big-time by an active targeting array; ___something_ out there is still very much alive."

"I have it." Kerensky's attention was immediately returned to his console, "It is some kind of automated IFF system; we have been officially challenged and asked to provide identification."

"Set the transponder to an SLDF frequency and squawk back." Swindelli looked at the red blip that had appeared on the main screen, "Let's see if that does the trick."

"Transmitting." Kerensky announced as a deathly hush fell over the room, "Whatever it is out there must have been a Star League system, because it is accepting our credentials." He announced after what felt like an age, "It seems to be some kind of automated orbital buoy; it is sending over a warning that the planet below was attacked in 2591 and subject to orbital bombardment. The survivors were evacuate by the Star League and the planet quarantined."

"I'm picking up no signs of chemical or biological contaminant." Burk looked switched the probe they had deployed to analytical mode, "They must have stuck with nuclear weapons, but the radiation's died down to something survivable, just so long as you don't stay too long."

"Interrogate the buoy; see what else it knows about this world." Swindelli ordered, "Be nice to know if this was all for nothing without having to go to all the trouble of landing."

"Let us see what she says." Kerensky pulled up the required codes from deep within the old spy ships computer, "It seems that there was a Star League Defence Force presence on the surface, which probably explains why they were attacked, because according to our navigational computer, there was nothing else of any interest down there: it was just a small, semi-independent world that was almost totally self-sufficient and had no real exports."

"Poor bastards." London exclaimed, speaking up for the first time, somewhat to the surprise of the others, "They probably didn't even care about the Reunification War or the Star league or any of that."

"Wouldn't be the first world that was just in the wrong place at the wrong time." Swindelli frowned, "Crap as the 'verse may be these days, it use to be a hell of a lot worse."

"We have something." Kerensky sent the feed from his station to the main screen, replacing the desolate image from the drone with a topographical map, "The Star League base was here," he highlighted a section that was now nothing more than a weather-worn crater, "but there was a smaller, sub-station out here." A second area was highlight, separated from the first by a series of low hills, "Looks like it was a fire-base or a maintenance depot. Now if I am reading these records correctly, then the people stationed there were called out to help with search and rescue operations at the main base, and never went back before they were evacuated."

"Ladies and Gentlemen, we have something worth looking at." Swindelli span his seat around, "Who knows, maybe this little side-trip will have been worth it after all." He stopped spinning and rubbed his chin, "Okay, this old tubs got a K-1 DropShuttle. London, you rated to fly that?"

"I could fly a brick through a tornado, if it had wings." The pilot nodded, supremely confident, "You do your job, and I'll do mine."

"Okay, I want the APC loaded into the shuttles cargo bay ASAP." Swindelli stood, somewhat shakily thanks to his spinning, "We split up: Claymore Lance stays with the APC and does perimeter sweep to see if there's anything else out there, Wolf Lance takes the barracks and motor-pool, while the rest of us take the Mech Bay and the command bunker. I'm not expecting to find much, and some of you may baulk at this, but go through everything; even consumer electronics from back then could be worth a small fortune to the right people."

The others looked at him blankly.

"What are you waiting for?" He snapped at them, "I ain't paying you people buy the hour!"

* * *

___Jasper's Landing__  
__New Colony Region  
__The Periphery  
__28__th__ February, 3065_

The shuttle had barely touched down before the cargo ramp was opened and the APC rolled out, it's powerful searchlights piercing the snowstorm that sat over their target with almost malevolent intent. Gusts of sleet laden wind rocked the slab-sided transport from side to side on its suspension as it slowly started to make its way towards the long abandoned fire-base. Inside the Slackers checked and double checked their equipment, the heavy gloves they wore as part of their acetic conditions clothing making it difficult, but the bighting cold outside had overwhelmed the centuries old heating system, and the internal temperature was already starting to drop.

"Keep your filter masks on and watch your rad-counters: the atmospheric probe said we should be okay, but I don't want anyone coming down with cancer six months from now." Swindelli reminded everyone, "Nor do I want you taking any unnecessary risks; nothing we're going to find is worth dying for. So if something looks unsafe, leave it be."

"Coming up on the first drop off point." Humansquish announced as he brought the APC to a stop, "Major, this is you."

"Okay people, let's get to work." Swindelli grabbed the manual release for the hatch and pulled it open.

A blast of icy cold air hit him full in the face, momentarily taking his breath away as he squinted to see anything in the blizzard. He could just about make out the low bulk of the Command Bunker a dozen meters away, and singled for the rest of his lance to follow him into the storm. The crunch of the snow under his heavy boots was lost in the howling wind, and he had to lean forward to avoid being blown over. Thankfully it didn't take him long to make it to the lee of the building where at least he could see more than a few steps ahead.

A deep rumbling from behind indicated that the APC had moved off towards its next target, leaving them alone.

"SPREAD OUT: TRY AND FIND A DOOR" He was forced to shout into his radio to be heard over the background noise, "KERENSKY AND I WILL GO RIGHT, THE REST OF YOU GO LEFT."

The party split into two, with Baker, Shen and Hardcastle vanishing around a corner and into the icy maelstrom. Swindelli reverted to hand signals to indicate that his second in command should follow, then started to slowly make his way along the wall, double checking his footing at he went. Even through the thick layers of their environment suits, he could feel the cold creeping in, and the last thing he wanted was to slip and end up face-first in a snow-drift. It was hard, labours work work, but at least moving did a little to keep him warm.

Two clicks on the radio stopped him dead in his tracks; it was the agreed upon code to indicate that they had found something, and he responded with three clicks in quick succession, then motioned Kerensky to turn around and make his way towards where the others were. Stepping back into the wind was hard work, but it wasn't long before they found a low entranceway protruding from the otherwise featherless bunker. Baker and Hardcastle were hard at work with a pry-bar, slowly forcing the thick hatch open as Shen stood ready with a flash-light. It took them a few minutes, but eventual the door gave way with a moan; centuries of rust and sized up hinges finally surrendering to brute force.

Shen's torch pierced the darkness beyond with a thin beam of light that showed little detail, so Swindelli cracked a pair of glow-sticks and shook them to mix the chemicals inside before tossing them into the room. The hallway beyond looked like a thousand other hallways on a hundred other military bases that Swindelli had seen other the years; stark with doors opening off on both sides, a stairwell at the far end going up and down. They stepped inside, glad to finally be out of the snow and wind, and took off their filter masks.

"Okay, let's just do a quick once over first; we can come back for anything interesting later." Swindelli looked through the nearest door, "Looks like these are just offices; we want the control room."

Switching her torch to lantern mode, Shen started down the hallway towards the stairwell, her highly trained seances alert for the slightest hint of danger. They checked the rooms as they went, mentally taking note of anything that might be worth the effort to salvage. Most held desks under a thick layer of dust, with long-abandoned work-stations and personal items like framed photos or other keepsakes that made it feel like they were walking through a tomb. Everything was still in its place, almost as if the garrison had just stepped out and would be back any moment.

The stairwell at the end looked a little worse for ware, and the glow-stick Swindelli dropped landed in what looked like knee-high dark, stagnant water, kept from freezing by the thick, insulating effect of the walls.

"Pipes must have burst." Baker commented, "Wouldn't recommend going traipsing around in that unless your tetanus shots are up to date."

"Then we go up." Swindelli went to step onto the first step leading up, but Kerensky put a hand out to stop him.

He nudged the metal frame with his foot, and it creaked ominously, flecks of rust raining down from the floor above.

"So much for legendary Star League build quality." the Star Captain quipped.

"I'm the lightest: Let me go first." Shen stepped forward, "I can rig a line up from the ceiling and we can climb up."

"Ladies first." Swindelli stepped aside, "Just be careful."

Keeping close to the wall, and testing each step to make sure it would hold before she put her full weight on it, the petite MechWarrior made her way slowly up to the first landing, each step enticing a fresh grown from the deteriorating structure. The other's held their breath as she carefully crossed the thin metal grating of the landing and started up the next set of stairs.

It started with a sharp snap as a bolt gave way, sending a single step tumbling down, but the loss of rigidity hit at a key spot, and the entire structure was compromised. It started to shake wildly as more sections started to give way, forcing Shen to scramble up the list few steps and five for the safety of the upper floor as the entire staircase collapsed. It fell past the startled party on the ground floor, the ear piecing screech all but deafening in the enclosed space as it landed in a twisted pile of jagged metal in the water at the bottom of the now otherwise empty shaft.

"___Jesus H. Tap-Dancing Christ!_" Swindelli shook himself, trying to get his breathing and heart rate under control, "Well, we sure as shit ain't going down there ___now__._"

"SHEN!" Baker called out, worried for his friend, "Lin, are you okay?"

"I'm fine; just a little bruised." the MechWarrior's head appeared over the edge of the floor above, "Just give me a second to get my heart out of my throat, and I'll anchor a line so the rest of you can come up."

**To Be Continued...**

_Slackers of the Inner Sphere:  
____Are in your room, stealing all your stuff_


	42. On Hallowed Ground

**Slackers of the Inner Sphere  
****Chapter 42: On Hallowed Ground**

___Jasper's Landing__  
New Colony Region  
__The Periphery  
__28__th__ February, 3065_

Captain Steele looked around the motor-pool and shook his head; he could understand the logical behind searching for anything of use, he just doubted that they'd be successful. The building had been a simple metal-framed hanger, little more than a civilian barn, put up to provide somewhere to work on the bases support and transport vehicles out of the elements. Unfortunately one corner had given way at some point in the past, crashing a pair of ATV's and letting the elements in. Rust and exposure to the cold had rendered most of not all of the equipment beyond any hope of salvage, and he was at the point of moving on to the adjoining barracks when he noticed an oddly sharpen pile of boxes. Looking closer he was able to make out where a storage unit had been knocked over by the collapsing roof, half burring something covered by an ancient tarpaulin.

"Give me a hand with this." He gestured to Sergeant Harley, managing to keep his tone somewhere between a request and an two of them worked to remove the debris until they could finally pull back part of the covering.

It started to disintegrate in their hands, but they were able to pull most of it away, unavailing a slightly dusty _Rotunda_ scout car. Its tires had gone flat at some point over the centuries since it had last seen the light of day, but the semi-armoured materiel was still intact, a testament to those that built it. Otherwise it seemed perfectly intact, ready to move off at a moments notice. Grabbing a remote power module from his pack, Harley located the external diagnostic port and forced open the armoured cover, the old hinge somewhat reluctant to move. Pulling the power pack in to the universal receptacle, he initiated the start up process while he plugged his writ computer in.

"Reactor's completely cold." He announced as he squinted slightly to read the tiny screen, "Needs an oil change and a new battery, but otherwise seems to be operational."

"We will have to signal the APC and arrange for them to tow it back to the shuttle: it may prove useful somewhere down the time." Steele nodded, "Come, let us move on to the next building."

* * *

"Shit!" Swindelli cursed as he pulled himself over the lip and up onto the upper floor, "I thought I was in much better shape than this."

"It is the cold." Kerensky remarked reassuringly as he helped his commander to his feet, "You would be surprised how quickly it can sap the strength of even the strongest man."

"Even genetically engineered super-soldiers like you?" The Major responded with a thin smile.

"I am a MechWarrior, not an Elemental: in some areas, we are not that different, you or I." The Trueborn warrior remarked, "Yes, I am probably a little more resistant to the cold than you or the others, but not by a lot."

"Says you." Swindelli dusted himself down and looked around.

The upper floor was split into three rooms; two medium sized offices that most likely belonged to the bases commander and XO, and a larger command room at the far end of a short corridor. His somewhat chequered history of military service meant that Swindelli was more use to a command post being a couple of maps strewn over a folding table with maybe a field radio to one side, but he'd seen enough to know roughly what he was looking at.

"See if you can get any of those up and running." He gestured Baker towards the computer terminals in the main room, "If nothing else, the processors might be worth something."

"On it." The NCO nodded, pulling a specialist tool kit from his backpack and taking Shen and Hardcastle with him.

Swindelli pushed open the door of the commander's office, holding his lantern high to get a better view. It looked like a larger version of the offices they had seen on the ground floor, but something caught his eye. Hanging from a coat stand in one corner was what had once been a leather belt, now only held together by a few strands of what had to by some kind of synthetic thread. But that wasn't what interested him; from the bottom of the belt hung the unmistakable shape of a pistol of some kind. Putting the lantern down atop a nearby filling cabinet, he carefully extracted the weapon, the warn materiel of the belt and holster crumbling under his touch. It looked like a Nakjama laser pistol, the standard issue side-arm of the DCMS, but Swindelli's expert eye could detect a few subtle differences. Firstly, the plastic was smoother and denser than normal, and the grip felt heavier. The barrel was also slightly longer and just a millimetre or two wider, indicating a larger and thus more powerful focusing crystal. The controls were also laid out differently, and there was no manufactures stamp on the butt. The weapon was obviously not standard issue; most likely it was a personal possession of the base commander, which begged the question of why they hadn't returned for it when they were ordered to evacuate the planet. Still, their loss was his gain, and he pocketed the pistol as he headed over the the desk.

Dusting off the name plaque he read the name ___Warrant Officer Gideon Coxall__, _so evidently he was in the XO's office. A equally dust covered photo frame contained an image of a well built but not overly muscular man dressed in full SLDF dress uniform, complete with ceremonial sword, standing next to a woman in a wedding dress. The only word that seemed to do the bride justice was goddess; he long, golden-blond hair was tied back, with just a few loose strands dangling down over icy blue eyes and a body that most women would kill for. She looked like something out of an old Nordic saga, a Viking shield-maiden come to life.

"Gideon Coxall, you lucky bastard." Swindelli couldn't help but smile as he nodded a salute to the long-dead soldier and his wife, "You hit the jackpot with that one."

He checked, but there was nothing else of interest in the office besides a couple of spare power packs for the pistol, so he went back out to see how the other's were doing. Kerensky had what looked like a framed set of insignia from some long-forgotten SLDF unit, while Baker and his two assistance were busy stripping the motherboards out of the computers, salvaging the possibly irreplaceable CPU's and other electronics.

"You finish up here." Swindelli gave the stark room one last look around, "We'll see if we can find a way into the Mech Bay that doesn't involve freezing our asses off."

* * *

The old APC rumbled along through the snow, Humansquish happy to be behind the wheel. He wasn't sure why, but he found driving soothing, no doubt a link to the past he couldn't remember.

"There isn't owt oot heor." Sharpe complained from his position in the jump-seat, "The Major sent us on a while goose chase."

"His call to make." Humansquish pointed out as he navigated a narrow pass between two snow drifts, "And at least now that heater's working it's at least warm in here."

"Aye, there is tha." The Lieutenant agreed, "God ernly knaa hoo cold the others are reet noo."

* * *

Steele looked around the bunk-room; rows of beds sat waiting for the troops who'd never return, while iced up uniforms hung ready for inspection. The sub-zero temperatures had preserved the room almost perfectly, and Steele couldn't help but imagine that the far door could open at any moment, and the brave men and woman of the Star League Defence Force would come marching in. Having been raised on stories that exulted the SLDF to near mythical status, he couldn't help but feel slightly in awe of the room. Here he stood, on the very spot where once the army of the great General Kerensky had stood guard over a unified humanity. Few warriors of the Clans could claim to have come so close to the noble warriors of that bygone golden age, to the proud linage that he himself was descended upon.

While he lacked the religious trappings of the accursed Cloud Cobra's, he couldn't help but feel something akin to a sence of spiritual uplifting by being there. Long he had questioned the logic and value of the mission his Kahn had sent him on, but now, standing here, he felt himself blessed.

"Nothing of interest here, Sir." Lieutenant Reid stood in the doorway behind him, her heavy coat still wrapped up tightly around her, "We're getting ready to move the _Rotunda_."

"Very well." Steele nodded, his thoughts still among the dead, "Go ahead; I will be with you shortly."

* * *

"Well, that's probably worth the effort of coming here." Swindelli stood with his hands on his hips as he surveyed the empty Mech bay, "Totally worth the effort."

"There is still the store room." Kerensky nodded towards a large door across from them, "And some of the machinery and equipment here could be salvageable."

"I'd be surprised if it's anything but scrap." Swindelli grumbled as he made his way across the dust-covered floor, "It may be worth a little to a big company, but we need something we can convert into cash easily, especially in this part of the universe. We're heading for the Magistracy of Canopus, where money talks; trinkets walk." He grabbed the door and pulled as hard as he could.

It resisted at first, but Kerensky added his own strength to the effort and it slowly started to move. The piercing screech of metal grinding against metal was almost too much to bare, but soon they had a big enough gap for them to step through. The room beyond was almost as big as the Mech bay itself, but with a much lower ceiling. Boxes and crates sat in rows, undisturbed for centuries. Despite the cold and the dust, they looked almost pristine, a testament to their manufacture.

"I've died and gone to heaven." Swindelli grinned like a wild-man as he saw the tell-tail markings on the crates, "Do you know what these are? They're weapons! Lasers! ER-PPC's! Gauss Rifles! Heat Sinks! Cooling vests and neuro-helmets! And all brand new, factory fresh, Star League Defence Force standard issue!"

"There must be enough her to re-equip the entire company." Kerensky looked around, eyes wide in amazement.

"Major." Baker appeared in the doorway, seemingly oblivious to the treasurer trove of LosTech, "There's something you need to look at." He pulled back his sleeve to show his wrist-comp, three lists of data displayed on the small screen, "Something about this would didn't feel right, so I started running a comparison between the navigational database on the _Wildfire_ and an emergency back-up copy I made just after we found her." He paused to made sure he had their attention, "This planet appears on the navigational database of the _Wildfire_ and the copy on the DropShip, but not on the back-up." he stopped the scrolling lines when the discrepancy appeared, "Someone tampered with the ships navigational computer to add this would, and did a bloody good job of covering their tracks."

"Someone wanted us to find this world." Swindelli grimaced, the gravity well of a small star suddenly appearing in the pit of his stomach, "Now I wonder who that could have been..."

**To Be Continued...**

_Slackers of the Inner Sphere:  
____Making Waco's Rangers look like the Wolf's Dragoons_


	43. Of Saints & Sinners

**Slackers of the Inner Sphere  
****Chapter 43: Of Saints & Sinners**

___Jasper's Landing__  
New Colony Region  
__The Periphery  
__30__th__ February, 3065_

Swindelli stood by the door as the creates full of weapons and other equipment were loaded onto powered carts by a mobile hydraulic lift and moved outside to where one of their Prime Mover's sat. Penwald had landed the _Bulldog_ as close as he dared, allowing them to load the salvage directly rather than have to ferry it up to orbit in the shuttle. It also allowed them to use some of the BattleMech's for heavy lifting, making life a lot easier all round.

Kerensky looked up from the data-pad he was using to keep track of just what they had recovered and nodded, his face an expressionless mask.

"I think that's everything." Burk appeared, rubbing his hands in anticipation of fitting at least some of their loot to his battered and barely functional _Shadow Hawk_, "Can't say I'll be sorry to see the back of this place."

"That remains to be seen." Swindelli responded deadpan.

Burk looked like he was about to say something, but his body went suddenly ridged as a crackling sound and the hint of ozone filled the room. He fell into a boneless heap, Kerensky standing over him with a stun-stick in hand.

"We have some questions we'd like to ask you and we felt you may be, disinclined, to answer them." Swindelli looked down at the not quite unconscious Burk, "But just so you know, it's nothing personal."

Kerensky jabbed him again with the stun-stick, and Burk's own personal universe went black.

* * *

Burk woke slowly, his body still aching from the after-effects of the stun-stick, and took stock of his situation. He was sat on a simple chair in one of the old offices, which had been stripped of all other furniture. His hands where secured behind his back by what felt like a nylon zip-pull, while his ankles were likewise tied to the legs of the chair. He had been stripped down to his underwear, his feet cold against the bare concrete floor, but there were no obvious signs that he was being watched. Shifting his weight as far and hard as he could, he started up a back-and-forth rocking motion that built until finally tipped backwards.

He hung, the chair balanced on two legs, for the briefest of moments before it surrendered the gravity and he fell the rest of the way. Pain shot through his arms as they were pinned beneath him, but he gritted his teeth and concentrated on working the bonds holding his legs in place down the front legs of the chair and free. Then, with great difficulty, he slowly edged the chair out from under his body. Rolling over onto his front, he was able to pull himself up into a kneeling position and shuffled over the the nearest wall. Breathing deeply to psych himself up, he rammed his left arm against the wall as hard as he could. Stars exploded before his eyes, but gritting his teeth, he tried again, and felt the unmistakable agony of his shoulder popping out of its joint. Now he was able to get his hands in-front of his body and, with more than a little hard work and fresh jolts of pain, undo the zip-pull. Bracing himself as well as he could, he again slammed his already abused arm into the wall, and cried out in a mixture of pain and joy when he felt his arm pop back into its socket.

The door was locked, but thankfully it was a standard office doer rather than something built to keep a prisoner in. he listened to see if all the noise had had made had attracted any attention, but there was no indication that it had. There was also no proof that the hallway beyond was empty, but that was a chance he was going to have to take. A single well aimed kick was all it took to pop the lock and grant him at least a little freedom, and he stepped out into the corridor, a faint feeling of triumph welling up inside him.

"Well what do you know: I owe Baker ten C-Bills." Swindelli stood in the hallway, leaning against the wall with a stun-stick in hand, "I thought it would take you at least another five minutes to get out."

"I, on the other hand, refused to place a wager." Kerensky stood the other side of the door, likewise armed, "Gambling is not an appropriate pass-time for a warrior."

"Son of a..." Burk frowned, "Can we just forgo the stun-stick; because that gets real old real fast."

"We know you planted the location of this world in the navigational computer; that you brought us here knowing this base existed. We just don't know why." Swindelli smiled, "Nor do we know just who it is you, and by extension, we, work for. Because we've been running around for the better part of a year now, getting into all kinds of trouble, and I for one would like to know the whys and wherefores."

"No, you don't." Burk replied calmly, "You only think you do."

"No, we really do." The Major to a step forward, brandishing his stun-stick in a less than friendly manor, "Because there is only so far you can push someone, telling them it's for their own good, before they start to push back."

"If I tell you what's really going on, then there's no turning back, no hiding." Burk looked and sounded surprisingly serious for a man dressed in only his vest and boxers, "Right now you're on the very cusp of what's going on. I was _born_ to this, so trust me when I say that you don't want to know how far the rabbit hole really goes."

"You speak as if there was some vast conspiracy." Kerensky shook his head, "Such things are impossible; the more people who know, the more likely that the secret will get out."

"That's one thing people never seem to understand; you don't need a vast army of conspirators with agents lurking in every shadow. All you need is a few people who know the big picture, and know enough about the people in key positions to influence they way they think." Burk threw his head back and laughed, mockingly, "You never go after the king in these things; you get to the Chamberlain who controls who gets to talk to the king. That way the people at the top never even know you were there." He shook his head, "Hell, I don't even know the full story myself; just what my parents told me when they felt I was old enough. All I can tell you is that the people you, that we, work for do not take kindly to people messing with their plans. I neither know nor care what those plans are, just that it's best that we don't get in their way."

"Shit, I owe Baker another 10 C-Bills." Swindelli lowered his weapon, "He's going to be impossible to live with after this."

"At least you'll get to live." A new voice came from the shadows, and London stepped forward, a combat shotgun looking meticulously oversized in her hands, "My employers hired me to make sure you get to your destination, but they also made it clear that, should another of their agents show up, I was to offer them all the assistance I could."

"Cass?" A look of utter shock and bewilderment came across Swindelli's face, "You're in on this to?"

"Yes and no: I'm strictly freelance" The DropShip pilot nodded towards Burk, "His people offered me a contract, and I accepted. As such I am therefore honour bound to do anything and everything I can to make sure you reach Astrokaszy, but beyond that I have no interest in your mission."

"'_Honour bound_'?" Swindelli almost laughed, cocking his head towards Kerensky, "God God, you're almost as bad as he is."

"It may be a joke to the like of you, Major, but my 'Word' is all I have." London shot him an icy look, the barrel of her shotgun rising up a centimetre or two, "I have no home to go back to, no family or friends to be threatened or intimidated. I have been utterly alone in this universe since I was 16 years old, and that's exactly how I like it. People in my line of work don't have business cards or offices you can contact; we exist off the grid, outside of the system. There are ways to get in contact with me, but never directly, and you'd better have a bloody good reason for doing so." She lowered her weapon just enough to show that she wasn't an immediate danger, but not enough to make it impossible for her to raise it again if she felt the need, "I do my job, I get paid, and then I'm gone again. I let others deal with questions of ideology and loyalty..."

She was interrupted by the sound of a pistol being cocked just behind her head, and she froze as still as a statue. Swindelli looked around the motionless woman, to see Jenny standing with an oversized revolver in her hand, her expression somewhat blank but her body a coiled spring ready to unleash all kinds of trouble at the slightest provocation.

"What are you doing here?" He asked, keeping his tone of voice as calm and level as he could, "You should be back on the DropShip."

"Mr Baker is worried; said he didn't what might happen here." The young woman's voice was almost childlike, as if she was discussing something as mundane as the weather, "He didn't know I was listening. Didn't know I knew how to get into the armoury. It has a simply alphanumeric lock: the manufactures override hasn't been removed. The secondary passenger hatch was the same; unguarded and with the default code still in the system."

"You know the factory default code for a four-hundred year old _Overlord_?" London asked, her right eyebrow moving up slightly, "I'm impressed: took me two years to track that one down."

"Yes. No. I don't know. " Jenny looked a little confused, "I knew it when I looked at the lock, but I don't know it now."

"Something else Word of Blake implanted in her head." Kerensky grimaced, "The more I learn of them, the less I like."

"Oh, I don't know." Burk shrugged, "There are a few true believers who are opposed to what the more fanatical are up to. They believe that the prophesies will come to pass in due time, without any outside assistance, and bare no ill will towards the rest of humanity."

"Not very helpful right now." Swindelli responded, "Jenny, put the gun down."

The young woman looked at him for a moment, then quietly placed the gun on the floor.

"Thank you." The Major nodded, letting out the breath he didn't realise he'd been holding, "Let's all get back to the ship and off this god forsaken rock, shall we?" He bent down and picked up the pistol, inspecting it to conform that it was loaded with live ammunition with the safety off, "I think we've had more than enough excitement for one day."

**To Be Continued...**

_Slackers of the Inner Sphere:  
____The cake is __**NOT**__ a lie_


	44. Scratching An Itch

**Slackers of the Inner Sphere  
****Chapter 44: Scratching An Itch**

_SS _Wildfire  
_Pirate Point  
__Early Dawn System__  
New Colony Region  
__2__nd__ June, 3065_

The ear-slitting shriek of the alarm clock built into the bulkhead woke Swindelli and he had to swat at it twice before he finally hit the off button. He rubbed his eyes with the same hand, his other arm trapped beneath the body that was still asleep at his side, a spray of red hair across his chest. He glanced down at the very naked Cassidy London who had somehow managed to sleep through the alarm and still snoring softly. The night before had been stress relief, pure and simple, but it had been highly enjoyable stress relief. There had been a certain attraction between the two of them for a while, but the events on Jasper's Landing had apparently put and to that until she had sat down next to him in the mess hall the night before with a bottle of something Penwald had concocted on a ramshackle still he kept locked away in one of the Bulldog's unused passenger smelt like used paint-stripper, tasted a hell of a lot worse and probably killed more than a few of Swindelli's taste-buds on the way down, but it did the job of getting you from vertical to horizontal in a short a time as possible. That wasn't to say that what happened between them had been some kind of drunken mistake; they had both been sober enough to realise what they were getting themselves into, nor stop them from fully enjoying each other's company when they got back to his cabin. But it was the cause of the hangover that felt like it was splitting his head clean in two, while his mouth felt like something had curled up and died inside it.

London moved her arm, the sheet shifting to give Swindelli an excellent view of her naked body. It had been longer than he'd cared to admit since he'd last been with a woman, and the night before had proved an interesting distraction.

"You going to sit there staring at my chest all day?" London asked, her eyes still closed, "Or are you going to make some coffee." she pulled herself up into a seated position, making no attempt to cover herself up, "Times like this I regret I quit smoking. I know it's a bit of a cliché, but I always did enjoy a cigarette after sex."

"So, last night was..." Swindelli looked at her, trying to work out what she was expecting from him, besides a cup of coffee.

"Scratching an itch." his bedfellow looked him in the eye, "Yes, it was fun, and yes, it's something I would consider doing again some time, preferable without the cry of 'Yippee Ki-Yay' I'm sure I heard at one point." She laughed, "you don't have to worry, Rick, I'm not looking for a relationship. I don't do romance; in my line of work it's a complication I just can't afford. So every once in a while, when the need arises, I..."

"...find someone to scratch your itch for you?" Swindelli nodded as he pulled his robe on and crossed the small cabin to the coffee machine he'd had installed, "You never have said just what you're job is, or where you're from."

"My job is getting something or someone from Point A to Point be with the minimum of fuss." London stretched her arms above her head, "As for the second question, that's where it gets complicated, but I suppose we have time while the coffee brews." She took a deep breath, "I was born on a world called Ålborg, a long, long way from here. My parents where JàrnFòlk, but they were killed in a blood-feud with a rival clan when I was two. My older brother raised me pretty much single handed, but he was eventually declared skåret, or outcast." She closed her eyes, "I was sixteen when he went away on a job and never came back. By then I was already an apprentice navigator on a freighter running supplies out to some deep-range ComStar base. I spent the next couple of years moving around, from ship to ship, going wherever the work took me. I stopped keeping track of individual worlds along, long time ago, but I've been to all four corners of the Inner Sphere, around most the major periphery realms and even out on a couple of Interstellar Expeditions scouting missions to far away places with strange sounding names. Hell, I've even went to Huntress on one job."

"You've led an interesting life." Swindelli mused as he filled two bulbs with strong black coffee, "Can't leave much time for a social life."

"Like I said, in my line of work, that's not a commitment I can allow myself." London took one of the drinks and sipped at it, "I can't let myself get attached to anything I'm not willing to walk out on in 30 seconds flat if the situation goes to hell. I have no home to go back to, no friends or family to threaten or interrogate. I have a few stashes scatters on random worlds, and more than a few numbered back accounts where my pay is piling up the interest. When the total reaches enough for me to just up and disappear," she pointed to the hatch with a whistle, "I'm gone. Mine ain't a line of work you grow old in."

"That doesn't sound like any kind of life to me." Swindelli shook his head as he leaned back against the bulkhead, his arms folded across his chest, "I know that the odds are stacked against me, but I've always had at least an apartment I can call home, even back on Outreach."

"That's your life, Major, and I'm not going to begrudge you it." London looked around the room, "I don't know about you, but I don't have to be on duty 'till 1600hr. What do you say we have another go at itch scratching?"

"Has anyone ever told you you're unusually forward?"

"I've lived my entire life in space; working, eating and sleeping in close proximity to other people. Spend enough time doing that and you gain a much more pragmatic approach to sex and nudity."

"I'll take your word for it." Swindelli looked at the clock on the display built into the bulkhead beside the bed, "But I have to go see Kobayashi and Kerensky about our financial situation. We need to resupply if we're ever going to make it to Astrokaszy, and we're a little low on cash."

"Pity." London pulled the bedding up and turned on her side with a yawn, "Hope you don't mind if I sleep off the rest of my hangover?"

"Like I could stop you." Swindelli shrugged as he grabbed his wash-bag and headed for the hatch with the intent of hitting the showers, "I'll try not to wake you when I get back."

"Whatever." London mumbled, already half asleep.

Slipping out into the passageway outside, Swindelli closed the hatch as quietly as he could, then almost jumped out of his skin when he turned to find Kerensky standing behind him.

"An interesting choice in bedfellows." The former Star Captain shrugged, "Still, probably safer than your ill-advised infatuation with Hitomi."

"Hitomi is a college." Swindelli responded defensively, "Nothing more."

"Still, I would recommend directing your interests, elsewhere." Kerensky warned, thoughtfully, "I still do not fully understand the attraction of a monogamous relationship, even if one intended to produce offspring, but I know enough to see that she is devoted to her husband, who could very easily arrange for a little, accident, the next time you went to pilot your BattleMech."

"I have no intention of pissing Baker off, or of trying to destroy his marriage." Swindelli shook his head, "I may be a bastard, but I'm not an total bastard; even I have some standards."

"Keep that in mind." Kerensky nodded, still confused as to why the freeborn of the Inner Sphere considered 'bastard' to be an insult, "I will see you in the mess hall when you are ready."

* * *

___JumpShip_ L. Ron Hubbard_  
____Nadia jump-point  
__Early Dawn System__  
New Colony Region  
____2____nd____ June, 3065_

"We are fast running out of time." Precenter Jamal paced back and forth across his cabin like a caged tiger, "If we do not catch these Mercenaries and recover to destroy the test subject soon, we will have no option but to go to the others and tell them what happened. Their response is likely to be, regrettable."

"So say the least." Adept Hawksmoor nodded, happy to see that her superior and mentor seemed to be operating on a more even keel, even if he did insist on walking around with empty tissue boxes on his feet rather than shoes, "I'd always assumed that the experiment had been approved..."

"The bane of true genius is having to deal with the limited minds of others, even if they are the ones paying the bills." Jamal smiled warmly, "Inform Captain de Peña that we will be heading in-system."

"Sir?" Hawksmoor looked confused.

"An old friend of mine runs a, retreat for battle-weary military officers, on Early Dawn." Jamal chuckled to himself, "He is one of the few people I trust, and he may be able to help us."

"Sir, the ___Righteous Indignation_ reported that they lost the Mercenaries trail in the Detroit system." Hawksmoor protested, "Surely we should go back and look for them?"

"I TOLD YOU TO NEVER CALL ME SHIRLEY!" Jamal snapped, his eyes wide with anger.

"I meant no disrespect, Sir." Hawksmoor bowed her head as she reached around for the syringe she kept hidden in her robes for just such an occasion, "I was merely seeking enlightenment."

"Yes, indeed you were." The Precenter nodded, seemingly calm and serene, but with a wild look in his eyes, "There is more than one way to skin a cat, my dear, as you are about to learn."

* * *

_SS _Wildfire  
_Pirate Point  
__Early Dawn System__  
New Colony Region  
____2____nd____ June, 3065_

"We should be able to sell the Mech's we captured on Shoreham with ease." Kobayashi sat at one of the tables in the mess hall, a laptop computer open before him, "We'll have to go below market prices if we want cash, that goes without saying, but we should be able to get enough cash to make it to Astrokaszy."

"We can sell the ___Wraith_ and the ___Commando_ with ease; not exactly uncommon in this part of the 'verse." Swindelli nodded in agreement, "The ___Hatchetman_ might be an issue; it's still a primarily Lyran design."

"And it has taken the most damage: replacement parts would be hard to come across locally." Kerensky frowned, leaning back in his chair, "We may have to sell it as scrap."

"If that's the case, then so be it." Swindelli shrugged it off, "Pity there's not anywhere local we could offload the ___Buccaneer_ without people asking too many questions. But a couple of salvaged BattleMech's is one thing; a Star League vintage DropShip is another."

"It's settled then." Kobayashi nodded, "We start towards Early Dawn by a course that makes it look like we came in to the Zenith jump-point, sell the Mech's and get what supplies we need before heading back out. With any luck, we can reach Astrokaszy without having to make any more unscheduled stops or unexpected surprises."

"Seyla." Kerensky agreed, "That would be nice, for a change."

**To Be Continued...**

_Slackers of the Inner Sphere:  
____Nothing Good Ever Happens To Them...Unless It's Followed By Something Bad_


	45. That Old Familiar Feeling

**Slackers of the Inner Sphere  
****Chapter 45: That Old Familiar Feeling**

___Mesa Dorado  
__Early Dawn__  
New Colony Region  
__12__nd__ June, 3065_

The leading edge of a massive sandstorm turned the edge of town into a no-go zone, the sort of place you avoided if you knew what was good for you. The town had a well-deserved reputation for lawlessness, even by local standards, and the storm offered the perfect opportunity for less lawful types to avoid what little law there was. It was the kind of night when walking down the wrong alleyway would be called 'suicide' by the overworked and under-paid town pathologist, and earn you a express trip to Boot Hill. While other's may have departed for more hospitable climes, the people of Mesa Dorado took pride in not only surviving, but thriving, where less hardy folk wouldn't dare to tread.

Hardy though they might have been, even the inhabitants of Mesa Dorado knew it was time to lock their doors and bar the windows when black painted ___Rotunda_ scout car with a flaming skull on the hood rolled into town from the desert highway and stopped outside a nondescript saloon. The car seemed to radiate the promise of a painful death for anyone that even thought about scratching its paintwork. The fact that it had driven through the heart of the sandstorm indicated that it was covered in a military-grade sealant, and thus impervious to anything the local gangs might be packing. None the less, anyone with plans to deface the paint-job soon changed their mind when the doors opened.

The first man to step-out took a long time to stand up, with what on anyone else would have been a full-length black leather duster barely reaching his knees. He had a dusty, warn Stetson on his head, a red bandanna and a pair of goggles protecting his face from the sand. His coat hung open just enough to show the massive pistol strapped to his right hip, but it was the equally oversized shot-gun that he swung over his shoulder like it was a child's toy that made it clear he was not a man to mess with unless you were ready for a real fight. He looked around, his hidden eyes scanning the street for any danger. Evidently assured that there was nothing to be worried about in the vicinity, they signalled to the cars only other occupant.

While maybe a head shorter than their companion, the second man looked just as deadly. They were also dressed in a long duster-style overcoat, only this one was a well-worn brown, the kind that tends to blend into a dusty landscape. The Stetson on their head was the same colour, but it had a bright snakeskin band. Between the hat and a black bandanna were a pair of yellow-tinted sunglasses that seemed almost mirrored. A pair of hand-made alligator-skin boots poked out from under a pair of denim jeans, a faint bulge in the left one indicating where a large knife had been stashed. Rather than a shot-gun, the second man had a pair of the oversized pistols held in an expertly tooled gun-belt. The leather had the shine that comes only through usage over a prolonged length of time, but had evidently been lovingly looked after.

The wind muffled the sound of the cars doors closing, along with the click of a complicated lock securing the vehicle. With only the faintest of nods, the apparent leader of the two led the way up the steps into the saloon as a roll of thunder echoed in the distance. A double set of doors afforded the patrons some protection from the elements, but it was clear that the new arrivals had been spotted, as the room went silent as they stepped into the bar itself. All eyes turned to scrutinise the strangers as they made their way up to the bar as calmly as if they were taking a stroll in the park.

"What will it be?" The bartender asked with the dry indifference of someone who had seen it all before, a million times over.

"A banana sundae." The first man banged his fist down on the bar top.

"A gâteau mille-feuille with Ceylon tea." His added with more restraint.

"Listen, pal," The bartender rolled his eyes, "the gag won't work unless you order milk."

"Then I guess it'll have to be two whiskies, strait up." the man with the alligator-skin boots turned and lent back against the bar, pulling off his bandanna and glasses to reveal Swindelli's drawn face and tired eyes, "That was a hell of a long drive. Next time, we tell Penwald to land a little closer to town._"_

* * *

___Location Unknown  
____12____nd____ June, 3065_

"The pieces are in place?"

"They are. The endgame will start soon."

"Then I suggest we get ready for Phase Two."

* * *

___Mesa Dorado  
__Early Dawn__  
New Colony Region  
____14____th____ June, 3065_

"Ten million for both the ___Commando_ and the ___Wraith__._" The manager of _Monster Joe's Used Mech's_ stood with her arms folded, "And that's my final offer."

"Final offer my ass!" Swindelli looked at her over the top of his prized vintage sunglasses, one of the few possession he still had from his old life back on Cerillos, "The ___Wraith_ alone is worth at least eleven, if not more. Offer me that much and I might be willing to throw in the ___Commando__."_

"Slim, this ain't Outreach, and you sure as shit ain't Jaime Wolf." The woman threw her head back and laughed, "Ten million the pair; take it or leave it."

"Lady, you drive one hell of a hard bargain." Swindelli spat into the palm of his right hand and offered it, "Ten million."

"You'll have to take a bankers draft." the woman returned the gesture and they shook hands to seal the deal, "I try not to keep too much cash on the premises."

"Just make it out to cash." The Major turned and singled for Penwald to back up the prime-mover.

In truth, he'd been expecting a much harder time getting anything approaching a decent price for the two salvaged Mech's, and ten million C-Bill's would go a long way towards sorting out their supply problems, at least for a while. With their main ComStar accounts frozen by the Mercenary Review and Bonding Commission, and Kobayashi still unable to contact their employers to get it sorted, they were forced to resort to physical money.

"When I was a kid, my father gave me a piece of advice, which was kind of rare as he was a drunken bastard at the best of times." Penwald fell in step beside Swindelli as the junk-yard workers started to unload the two battered Mech's, "He said to me 'son, if the worst anyone ever does to you in life is kill you, then you're doing okay'. Never did work out what he meant until now."

"I have a feeling your father was a misunderstood genius." The Major nodded as they reached the battered old APC that had followed them in from the space-port, "Have a look around and see if they have anything here we can use, the head back to the ship. I'm going to head into town and see about getting some supplies so we can fully restock the ___Wildfire's_ hydroponics bay."

"Amen to that." Penwald threw his head back and laughed, "I'm getting a little sick and tired of spam and powered mash potato twice a day."

The two men parted company, totally unaware of the man dressed as a priest who had been watching them from across the street with cold, unblinking eyes hidden behind a pair of dark glasses.

Swindelli made his way down the road towards the nearest wholesaler, his mind occupied with thoughts of what luxuries he could afford to add to their list of essentials. It had taken all his skills as a poker player to maintain his composure, but ten-million C-Bills was actually better than he'd expected for the two salvaged BattleMech's. Even so, they might need to live off the money for a while, so he dropped anything truly extravagant off of the wasn't so deep in thought that he failed to notice someone come up from behind and fall into step beside him. He was already reaching for his gun, when a familiar voice stopped him.

"Keep very, very calm, Major." Burk warned from behind a false beard and thick glasses, "There's someone following you. Or, perhaps I should say, some _thing_."

"Another one of those cyborg freaks?" the Major asked, wishing that he had worn his gun-belt, rather than a small holster that let him carry his gun safely and securely in the small of his back.

"___Manei Domini_, the Hands of the Master." Burk swung his walking stick theatrically, "Given how well he's blending in, I'd say either a Ghost or a Wraith. But knowing our luck, it's probably a Poltergeist with a very good tailor."

"You know, one of those things shrugged a head-shot from my .75 back on Shoreham." Swindelli commended, "So unless you're carrying something a hell of a lot more powerful..."

"Relax, Major." Burk grinned, his eyes darting to the top of a nearby apparent building, "Everything is in hand. All we need is for our friend back there to reveal his true nature, and..."

He never finished his sentence; some sixth sense had him pushing Swindelli into an open doorway. Despite this, a splinter of wood nicked his cheek, which was nothing compared to what it did to the door-frame itself. The hardwood exploded under the impact, while the hypersonic sound of the gauss pellet shattered the store windows. The faux priest stood on the other side of the street, their left arm held out strait ahead, hand held at right angles to allow the concealed weapon inside a clear line of fire. Their second shot pulverised brickwork only a few centimetres above Swindelli's head.

"Yep." Burk curled up into a ball to offer as small a target as he could, "That's a Poltergeist all right."

An ear-splitting boom shook the street, and the Manei Domini staggered backwards, their jacket and shirt torn to shreds over their heart. A second impact followed before they could recover, knocking them flat on their back, sending up a perfect halo of dust. The cyborg struggled to rise, hydraulic-fluid starting to flow like blood where the heavy anti-material rounds had inflicted massive damage. The third round caught them a glancing blow on the right side of their head, ripping away their ear and half the skin off their face. Dull metal and ceramics were clearly visible below, along with cybernetic ear and eye implants.

The final shot hit the bridge of their nose, blowing the back of their armoured skull off, and the Blakist agent fell down one last time, dead.

Atop the apartment block, London kept the cross-hairs of her rifle over prone body for a moment to make sure it wasn't just playing possum. Confident that it was dead, she quickly set about stripping down her rifle and placed each component with care into the custom-made case. The rifle had been a gift from her mentor the day she had completed her apprenticeship; it was a truly unique weapon, something she was sure off because she had killed its maker shortly after. It was true that most of her time was spent transporting people or packages from one place to another, but that wasn't the only skill she had acquired over the years.

Just how Burk had known about her proficiency with such a weapon was an annoying mystery.

**To Be Continued...**

_Slackers of the Inner Sphere:  
____These aren't the Merc's you're looking for..._


	46. Bad Moon Rising

_Quick FYI to people who leave anonymous reviews;  
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__So either sign-up/log-in so I can PM you, or leave a frakking e-mail address!_

**Slackers of the Inner Sphere  
****Chapter 46: Bad Moon Rising**

___Sidewinder Mountains  
__Early Dawn__  
New Colony Region  
__14__th__ June, 3065_

The systems primary had already set, and a blood red moon was already rising as the small, nondescript ground-car made its way along the otherwise deserted highway, the glare of its headlights the only artificial light for miles around. The highway winding road straitened out as it passed through a small, abandoned mining town, before pulling to a halt outside what a faded sign identified as a drive-in TriDee theatre. Two men, dressed in civilian cloths but armed with military-grade automatic weapons, approached the car; from their body language and they way they held the weapons it was clear they knew how to use them

"Drive-in's closed." The apparent leader almost sneered, tapping the barrel of his gun against the driver-side window while his parter covered him from by the gate.

There was a faint electric whine as the tinted window opened, and Hawksmoor looked out.

"We're with the Ace Tomato Company." She announced, flashing a laminated security pass with her photo on it. The guard peered into the interior to see Jamal holding up similar credentials. The guard just nodded, then motioned for his companion to open the gate and allow the car entry.

A faint trail of dust followed them as Hawksmoor drove past the skeletal remains of a massive TriDee screen towards the only building still standing; a dilapidated looking diner. A man dressed in an expensive if slightly out-of-date suit was waiting for them outside, his eyes hidden behind a pair of mirrored sunglasses, despite the late hour. He didn't move so much as a muscle as the car approached, stopping with its front bumper only inches from his legs. Jamal and Hawksmoor got out of the car, leaving the headlights on to offer at least some illumination.

"Must have been a long drive." The stranger observed with a friendly smile, "Perhaps you'd like a Cola?"

Jamal and Hawksmoor exchanged confused glances, then made their way into the diner. The interior seemed surprisingly clean, given how dusty the outside was, but that was probably in part due to the low lighting. With every window boarded up, the only illumination came from what little moonlight spilled in through the door, and a single fluorescent tube that hung over the soft drink taps.

"Perhaps you'd like a Cola?" Hawksmoor echoed the words of the man still standing outside, gesturing towards the stack of cardboard cups beside the spill-tray.

Jamal picked one up and, hesitating only momentarily, pressed it against the trigger. There was a sudden loud snap as a handrail shot out of the floor, surrounding them, then there was a feeling of near weightlessness as the very same floor dropped away suddenly, carrying its two startled passengers with it. They both let out long, terrified screams as they were taken deep below the surface, dull grey, featureless walls surrounding them on all for sides as the diner became little more than a speck of darkness high above their heads.

Then, just as it felt like they were about to be dragged down to the very depths of hell, the elevator came to a sudden stop, almost throwing its unwilling passengers to the ground. An imposing blast door covered with warning labels and the words **AUTHORISED PERSONNEL ONLY** in big, red letters greeted them, but it opened silently to show a second, equally imposing door. Jamal led the way forward, and the door parted before them, only to reveal a third door, this time resembling a bank vault. This too opened as they approached, revealing a set of bars before what looked like well appointed library or study. The bars receded into the ceiling, then the book case parted to uncover a decidedly mundane looking door. It opened, and a man dressed in a Precenter's robes greeted them.

"Lazarus, my old friend." His smile was warm and friendly, "Welcome to Sector Seven."

* * *

_DropShip_ Bulldog  
_Early Dawn  
New Colony Region  
__16th June, 3065_

With the armoured blast-doors retracted, the crew lounge offered an impressive view of the surrounding vista, including the _Catapult_ and _Raven_ which stood picket duty at the entrance of the box canyon that the DropShip had landed in. several other of the units Mech's were on perimeter guard, keeping an eye open for any uninvited guests. Swindelli sat at the head of the conference table, booted feet resting on the warn fake wood, a mug of steaming black coffee in his hands. His eyes travelled around the room; _Kobayashi was sat to his left, a thick folder of legal documents in his hands. Next to him were Steele and _Penwald, with Baker and _Hanzo sat at the far end. Running back up the other side were _Sharpe_, _Burk and finally Kerensky. None of them had gotten much sleep since making planet fall, none at all since their run in with the _Manei Domini_ two days before.

"Okay, let's get started." the Major rubbed his eyes, "How we doing on weapons?"

"I've finished assembling the last of the .75 Recoilless' I brought with me from Shoreham." Hanzo reported, "I've also put together some copper jacketed Tungsten carbide ammunition, similar to what your autocannons use. That's the nastiest stuff I can give you with what's on hand, and it would get me arrested back in the Suns."

"Everyone remember to load up, and make sure everyone else does too." Swindelli nodded, "How are our Mech's?"

"My people managed to repair most of the damage we took on Epsilon Eridani and Shoreham, but there are limits to what you can do without a fully stocked and manned Mech Bay." Baker looked up from the noteputer on the table before him, "I've also switched the security equipment from Captain Kerensky's _Hellspawn_ over to that _Loki_ we captured on Epsilon Eridani; should add a little extra fire-power to the Command Lance."

"Good, good." Swindelli nodded, "An our young 'guest'?"

"Little change; she has her more lucid moments, and seems to... calmer, for want of a better world, around Tad, Shen or..." Baker shot an awkward glance to his wife, who responded with a frosty glare, of her own, "myself. The rest of the time she tends to revert back to her former state of praising Blake and all his words and deeds."

"Charming young woman, isn't she?" Burk grinned, seemingly unfazed by recent events. "Anyway, I've received word from our, Principles: they want us to take our 'guest' to an small town called San Venganza, in the foothills of the _Sidewinder Mountains. According to what I was able to find on the joke of a planetary data-net they have here, _San Venganza was a small mining town that was abandoned years ago. No one lives there any more, or anywhere near it, so it's the perfect to meet and..."

"Hand a young woman over to people _most_ of us don't know?" London shot him a venomous glance, her face set like stone, "I will admit that I have, in the past, committed my fare share of questionable acts, and there is more than a little blood on my hands, but even I have to draw the line somewhere."

Swindelli looked around the table to see how the others reacted; most of them only knew London's cover as their navigator. From the reactions it was clear that some of the others had their suspicions, but only Burk seemed totally unmoved by her sudden outburst.

"No one is saying otherwise." _Kobayashi was the first to speak, surprising _Swindelli, "There are a few legal questions; while she taken prisoner as part of a military operation covered by the interstellar treaties covering the use of private military or security forces and the charter of the Mercenary Review and Bonding Commission, we removed her from Epsilon Eridani without first declaring her an official Prisoner of War or checking to see if she had any outstanding warrants under the extradition clauses of said MRCB charter. That was the point that the Word of Blake was able to use to get our MRCB membership suspended pending a full investigation which can only happen if and when we returned to Outreach. Until such time, as a unit, we are not covered by the same legal protection enjoyed by other MRCB members and none of us can serve in a MRCB certified unit."

"Glad my ship and crew are protected by the Merchants Guild." Penwald snorted.

"You think that the Word will give two shits about that?" Swindelli asked only semi-rhetorically, "We're _all_ up that well known creek without a paddle."

"If I may be allowed to continue?" _Kobayashi asked with his typical dray, Davion wit, "Now, given that we had cause to believe that leaving our guest behind on _Epsilon Eridani would result in, if not her death, then at least serious harm, it could be argued that we had a duty of care to her. I'm sure I could spin it that way to a MRCB arbitration board, should it ever come to that. Unfortunately, the MRCB is on Outreach, and we are a long, long way from there."

"I would like to point out that I never wanted her on this ship in the first place. I could have dropped her off at the next planet we stopped at." Swindelli pointed a finger at London, "We all know what she did to those Genecaste freaks. How can I put this delicately?" He paused for a moment, trying to find the right words, "Crazy, nuts, insane, bonzo, no longer in possession of her faculties, three fries short of a Happy Meal, wacko!"

"There is, admittedly, empirical evidence that she is emotional unstable, yes." _Kobayashi admitted, "But then there is also evidence that she was the subject of some kind of intense subliminal training or education by the Word, and we have no idea if she entered into it willingly. I'm not even sure if she'd know, assuming she was lucid enough to ask her and not prone to getting, shall we say 'agitated' whenever the subject is brought up."_

_"No doubt a defence mechanism built into whatever they filled her head with." Burk hypothesised, __"I would advise against probing too deeply; who knows what surprises might be lurking in the depths of her subconscious ."_

"So, yeah, basically we're screwed no matter what we do." Swindelli shrugged, "Still, given the fact that the Word outright said they'd kill her simply because we found out about her, I think she'd be better of with pretty much anyone else." He looked around the table, "Anyone got any better ideas?" The room remained silent, although it was clear that more than a few maintained some reservations about the course of action laid out before them. "Okay, if there's nothing else, let's get back to work."

He waited until almost everyone else had left before turning to London.

"I'm leaving." She spoke up before he had a chance to say anything, "My contract is complete and, as I said, I want to wash my hands of this entire débâcle before they get any more blood on them."

"I have to admit, I kind of saw that coming." Swindelli admitted with a sense of resignation, "I hope you understand if I refrain from begging you to stay; I don't have much self-respect left as it is."

"We had fun, Rick, more than I expected. But we both knew going into... whatever we had, that it was never going to last. We're just not the kind of people who go in for long-term relationships. That and the fact that you're in lust with another man's wife."

"Does _everyone_ know about my feelings for Hitomi?"

"I'm pretty sure it's an open-secret by now. I know that Baker seems somewhat amused by it, which is probably why you're still alive."

"Nice." Swindelli turned to look out the window, "Suddenly, walking into a potential trap doesn't seem like such a bad idea."

**To Be Continued...**

_Slackers of the Inner Sphere:  
____With no power comes no responsibility..._


End file.
